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•PtDWO    J    LESBOS. 

I 

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GIFT  OF 
Sir   Henry  Heyrnan 


MASTER   MUSICIANS 


V  .,::4. 


Master  Musicians 

A   Book  for  Players,   Singers 
and   Listeners 


BY 


J.  CUTHBERT  HADDEN 

AUTHOR  OF  '  CHOPIN,'   '  HAYDN,'  '  THE  OPERAS  OF  WAGNER,'   ETC. 


WITH    FIFTEEN    ILLUSTRATIONS 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.   McCLURG   &    CO. 

EDINBURGH  :  T.  N.  FOULIS 
I  9  I  I 


Printed  in  Great  Britain. 


(U    ^j 


&    ^h^- 


7 


TO 

MRS.    STEWART 

OF    23    BLACKET    PLACE,    EDINBURGH 

I    DEDICATE   THIS    BOOK 

A   TRIBUTE   OF   AFFECTION    AND   GRATITUDE 


tj*J  <L  »l  ^  fj 


PREFACE 

The  only  thing  requiring  to  be  said  by  way  of 
preface  to  this  book  is,  that  it  does  not  pretend  to  be 
critical.  Technicalities  have  been  expressly  avoided. 
It  is  about  the  men  themselves  rather  than  about 
their  music  that  I  have  chosen  to  write.  Further, 
I  have  had  in  view  the  amateur  rather  than  the 
professional,  and  the  young  reader  rather  than  the 
adult ;  though  I  would  fain  hope  that  the  book  may 
interest  all  who  love  and  practise  the  art  of   Bach 

and  Beethoven.  j  r-   tj 

J.  C.  H. 

Edinburgh,  September  1909. 


vu 


CONTENTS 


When  Music,  Heavenly  Maid,  was  young  . 
George    Frederick     Handel  :     the     Maker    of 

THE  Messiah 
Bach,  Old  Father  of  Fugue 
Papa  and  Mamma  Haydn 
Mozart  !  Immortal  Mozart  ! 
The  Deaf  Beethoven    . 
Franz  Schubert  :  the  Master  of  the  Lied 
Robert     Schumann  :      Composer,     Editor,     and 

Essayist 
Felix    Mendelssohn  :     Singer    of    the    "  Songs 

WITHOUT  Words" 
Frederic  Chopin  :  the  Poet  of  the  Piano 
Richard   Wagner  :    the    Revolutionary   of  the 

Music  Drama       .... 
A  Cluster  from  the  Operatic  Branch — • 

Gluck      

Weber      ...... 

Meyerbeer 

Gounod  and  Bizet 


14 
32 
49 
69 
89 
1 1 1 

129 

145 
162 

182 

204 
208 
212 
215 


MASTER  MUSICIANS 


A  Cluster  from 

Tiir:  Operatic  Branch  {confd.)— 

- 

Rossini 

219 

Bellini  and 

Donizetti  .... 

222 

Verdi 

. 

224 

Stars  among  the 

Planets — 

Clementi 

. 

229 

Pleyel 

230 

Dussek     . 

. 

231 

Cramer    . 

. 

231 

Hummel  . 

232 

CZERNY       . 

. 

233 

MOSCHELES 

. 

•     234 

Cherubini 

. 

•     235 

Spohr 

,         . 

236 

Berlioz    . 

. 

•     237 

Brahms    . 

. 

242 

Grieg 

. 

247 

TSCHAIKOWSKY 

251 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


Madame  Schumann 
Handel  . 

• 

Fron 

Hspiece 

PAGE 

24 

Bach 

. 

40 

Haydn     . 

• 

56 

Mozart  .     ^  . 

• 

72 

Beethoven 

. 

88 

Beethoven  and  hi 

s  Friends 

104 

Schubert 

. 

120 

Schumann 

. 

136 

Mendelssohn  . 

. 

.     152 

Chopin    . 

. 

.      168 

Wagner  . 

. 

184 

Liszt 

. 

200 

Verdi 

. 

.     216 

Grieg 

. 

248 

XI 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID, 
WAS  YOUNG 

The  study  of  the  history  of  music,  seconded  by  hearing  the 
actual  performance  of  the  masterpieces  of  different  epochs, 
will  prove  the  most  rapid  and  effectual  cure  for  conceit  and 
vanity.— Schumann. 

A  CELEBRATED  musician  once  declared  that  nobody 
worth  considering  as  a  composer  lived  before  the  time 
of  Handel  and  Bach.  Painting,  sculpture,  architecture, 
decorative  work  of  various  kinds :  all,  he  said,  produced 
masterpieces  which  we  still  value  and  admire,  though 
they  are  now  more  than  two  thousand  years  old.  But 
go  back  even  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  in  music, 
and  we  feel  as  if  we  were  among  things  crude  and  in- 
complete. That  was  the  celebrated  musician's  verdict. 
In  his  view.  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  born  when 
Handel  and  Bach  were  born — then,  and  not  before. 

In  a  sense  it  is  true ;  so  true  that  Bach,  who,  like 
Handel,  was  born  in  1685,  is  often  called  "the  father 
of  music."  But  it  would  never  do  to  ignore  entirely 
Bach's  and  Handel's  predecessors,  unfamiliar  though 
most  of  their  names  are  now.  There  are  names  of 
old  masters — composers  and   theorists — that  every 

I  B 


2  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

musical  amateur  ought  to  know,  because  of  the  services 
they  rendered  towards  the  development  of  the  art. 
Art  of  all  kinds  is  an  evolution,  and  the  beginnings  of 
musical  composition  carry  us  to  a  time  a  good  long 
way  before  that  last  decade  of  the  seventeenth  century 
which  produced  Handel  and  Bach. 

In  the  earlier  days,  before  Handel  and  Bach,  music 
was  chiefly  in  the  hands  of  churchmen,  which  is  readily 
explained  by  the  fact  that  the  churchmen  were  then 
almost  the  only  people  of  education  and  culture.  It 
is  thus  that  St.  Ambrose  and  St.  Gregory  have  come 
to  be  named  and  honoured  in  musical  history.  Am- 
brose was  Archbishop  of  Milan  from  374  to  397.  He 
took  a  keen  interest  in  church  music,  and  did  much 
for  its  advancement.  It  was  he  who  devised  a  general 
system  of  chanting  known  from  his  name  as  the 
Ambrosian  Chant.  When  Ambrose  died,  church  music 
again  deteriorated. 

Two  hundred  years  later,  a  reformer  arose  in  the 
person  of  Pope  Gregory,  surnamed  the  Great.  Most 
musical  people  have  heard  of  "Gregorians,"  a  mediaeval 
medium  of  chanting  the  psalms  which  is  still  employed 
in  some  churches  where  the  ritual  is  "high."  The 
taste  for  Gregorians,  like  the  taste  for  olives,  has  to 
be  cultivated.  Many  share  the  feeling  of  the  American 
who,  when  he  was  told  that  David  himself  sang  his 
psalms  to  Gregorians,  said  he  understood  for  the  first 
time  why  Saul  threw  the  javelin  at  him  !  That,  then, 
is  what  we  owe  to  Gregory  the  Great.  It  was  during 
his  time  also  that  the  Romans  reduced  their  nomen- 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID,  WAS  YOUNG     3 

clature  of  music  to  the  first  seven  letters  of  the  alphabet 
— a  nomenclature  which  has  been  preserved  intact 
through  the  long  intervening  centuries.  They  had  prac- 
tically no  musical  notation  as  yet — only  a  system  of 
dots  and  scratches  which  look  as  mysterious  to  us  as 
the  hieroglyphics  on  Cleopatra's  Needle  or  the  symbols 
on  a  China  tea-chest.  The  five-line  staff  was  quite 
unknown,  and  sharps  and  flats  were  lying  far  away  in 
the  bosom  of  the  future. 

It  was  Guido  of  Arezzo,  in  Tuscany,  a  learned 
monk  of  the  eleventh  century,  and  Franco  of  Cologne, 
who  flourished  about  the  year  1200,  who,  between  them, 
laid  the  foundations  of  our  present  system  of  musical 
writing.  Guido  devised  a  four-line  staff,  and  two  of 
the  lines  were  coloured.  One  line  was  yellow  (some- 
times green),  and  its  purpose  was  to  fix  the  place  of 
the  note  C.  Another  line  was  red,  and  the  red  line 
fixed  the  place  of  F.  It  is  from  this  practice  of  the 
old  monk  that  our  familiar  treble  and  bass  clefs  are 
derived.  Nor  did  Guido's  services  to  music  end  here. 
We  may  fairly  call  him  the  inventor  of  sol-fa,  for  he 
was  the  first  to  employ  the  syllables  ut  (now  doJi), 
re^  miyfay  sol-la.  These  syllables  he  derived  from  the 
following  Latin  lines,  which  he  made  his  pupils  sing 
to  a  melody  so  arranged  that  each  line  began  with  the 
note  it  was  used  to  represent : 

Ut  queant  laxis  Famuli  tuorum 

Resonare  fibris  Solve  polluti 

Mira  gestorum  Labii  reatum. 

The  syllable  si^  for  the  seventh  of  the  scale,  was  not 


4  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

introduced  till  so  late  as  the  seventeenth  century, 
but  it  would  never  have  been  introduced,  and  probably 
we  would  never  have  had  a  sol-fa  notation  at  all, 
except  for  Guido  of  Arezzo. 

And  what  about  Franco?  Well,  his  part  in  the 
musical  advance  applied  mainly  to  the  devising  of 
notes  of  different  shapes  to  express  different  time 
lengths.  Before  Franco's  day  there  was  no  way  of 
clearly  representing  time  in  musical  notation  ;  no  way 
of  showing,  for  example,  the  difference  between  a  note 
which  should  be  four  beats  long  and  one  which  should 
be  two  beats.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  such  an  incon- 
venience now,  and  we  have  to  thank  Franco  for  saving 
us  from  it.  The  breve  (seldom  seen)  and  the  semibreve 
come  down  to  us  from  him,  though  he  called  them  the 
"brevis"  and  the  "semibrevis."  He  invented  "rests" 
too ;  and  he  was  the  first  to  divide  time  into  what  we 
call  "  dual  "  and  "  triple."  Dual  time  has  two  beats  in 
the  bar,  as  in  a  polka  ;  and  triple  time  has  three  beats, 
as  in  a  waltz.  Franco  made  this  distinction  before 
anybody  else  did  ;  and  he  had  a  quaint  idea  that  all 
church  music  should  be  written  in  triple  time  because 
its  three  beats  correspond  with  the  Holy  Trinity,  three 
persons  in  one  God. 

Thus,  then,  the  world  had  arrived  at  a  tolerably 
clear  and  intelligible  method  of  representing  music  to 
the  eye.  Still,  there  had  been,  so  far,  no  composers, 
as  we  regard  the  term.  It  was  not  until  the  so-called 
Netherlands  School  arose  in  the  fourteenth  century 
that  anything  significant  was  done  in  musical  composi- 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID,  WAS  YOUNG     5 

tion.  We  may  think  it  curious  now  that  Belgium  and 
Holland,  and  not  Germany,  which  has  given  us  nearly 
all  our  really  great  composers,  should  have  been  the 
first  home  of  music  the  modern  art.  But  the  wind 
bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  there  were  notable  musi- 
cians in  other  lands  before  Germany  produced  Handel 
and  Bach. 

There  was,  first  of  all,  Josquin  des  Pr^s,  who,  at 
the  height  of  his  maturity,  as  much  overtopped  his 
contemporaries  as  Beethoven  overtopped  all  other  com- 
posers at  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century.  Des 
Pres's  music  is  even  yet  heard  occasionally,  and  accord- 
ing to  an  admirer  is  "  still  ravishing  to  the  ear."  He 
was  born  at  Cond^  about  1450,  and  lived  till  1521.  He 
enjoyed  immense  popularity  in  his  day,  first  as  a  singer 
in  the  Pope's  Chapel  at  Rome,  and  later  as  chapel- 
master  to  Louis  XII.  of  France.  It  was  complained 
indeed  that  there  was  ''only  Josquin  in  Italy,  only 
Josquin  in  France,  only  Josquin  in  Germany ;  in 
Flanders,  in  Bohemia,  in  Hungary,  in  Spain,  only 
Josquin."  Luther,  the  great  Reformer,  said,  "  Josquin 
is  a  master  of  the  notes  ;  they  have  to  do  as  he  wills, 
while  other  composers  must  do  as  the  notes  will." 
Some  historians  would  have  us  accept  him  as  "  the 
first  composer  of  modern  music."  However  that  may 
be,  he  was  a  real  pioneer  composer,  and  greatly  in- 
fluenced the  trend  and  history  of  the  art. 

One  of  his  pupils,  a  Belgian  called  Adrian  Willacrt 
(1490-1563),  is  credited  with  the  introduction  of  the 
madrigal.    The  madrigal,  a  particular  kind  of  part- 


6  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

song,  became  exceedingly  popular  in  England  towards 
the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century.  Nobody  writes  madri- 
gals nowadays,  for  they  are  held  to  be  old-fashioned. 
But  who  has  not  heard  of  "  Down  in  a  flowery  vale," 
"  In  going  to  my  lonesome  bed,"  and  *'  Flora  gave 
me  fairest  flowers"?  These  are  all  madrigals,  and 
if  we  owe  them  indirectly  to  Adrian  Willaert,  then  we 
owe  him  a  big  debt.  Willaert  had  a  contemporary  who 
was  much  more  distinguished.  This  was  Orlando  Lasso 
(1520-1594),  born  at  Mons,  in  Belgium.  They  called 
him  the  "  Prince  of  Music,"  and  he  was  celebrated  all 
over  Europe,  employed  and  honoured  by  kings  and 
nobles.  If  it  be  true,  as  is  said,  that  he  wrote  2500 
works,  he  was  one  of  the  most  prolific  composers  who 
ever  lived.  Barring  one  quaintly  beautiful  madrigal, 
nothing  of  his  is  heard  in  public  to-day.  But  he  played 
a  considerable  part  in  the  advance  of  his  art,  for  he 
introduced  the  chromatic  element  into  composition, 
and  it  is  from  him  that  we  have  derived  such  indis- 
pensable musical  terms  as  Allegro  and  Adagio. 

But  the  real  glory  of  those  early  times  was  Palestrina 
(15 14-1594),  who  was  born  to  effect  a  complete  re- 
volution in  the  style  of  musical  composition  for  the 
church.  He  is  the  first  composer  who  is  treated  seriously 
by  the  musical  historians,  though  he  is  rather  a  herald 
of  the  really  great  composers  than  one  of  the  greatest 
in  his  own  person.  When  quite  young,  he  went  by  a 
variety  of  names,  but,  as  his  fame  gradually  increased, 
he  began  to  be  called  after  the  little  place  near  Rome 
where  he  was  born.    Tourists  go  to  Palestrina  to-day 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID,  WAS  YOUNG     7 

to  see  it  just  for  his  sake.  It  is  the  type  of  a  hill-town 
in  the  Sabine  country.  The  traveller  finds  it  difficult 
of  access,  but  it  was  meant  to  be  so  when  it  was  built, 
Hke  so  many  neighbour  cities,  on  a  peak.  It  carries 
Roman  mosaics  in  perfect  preservation  in  an  amphi- 
theatre on  the  top  of  its  steep  streets,  whence  you 
might  drop  an  apple,  or  almost,  straight  into  the 
Campagna  at  your  feet  Seen  thence,  the  dome  of 
St.  Peter's  looks  like  a  dim,  clouded  pearl  on  the  far 
horizon,  and  you  may  nearly  discern  the  statues  on 
the  Lateran  pricking  into  the  sky.  A  recent  visitor 
tells  that  all  the  people  are  poor,  most  of  them  beauti- 
ful, and  the  abounding  children  look  as  though  they 
must  fall  into  the  plain.  Out  of  this  nest  of  isolated 
poverty  came  the  greatest  musical  genius  of  his  time, 
the  creator  of  the  true  religious  style. 

As  a  youth  Palestrina  had  studied  music  in  Rome, 
and  before  he  was  thirty  he  was  choirmaster  in  the 
chapel  of  Julius  II.,  the  fiery  Pope  who  figures  so  pro- 
minently in  the  life-story  of  Michael  Angelo.  The 
composer  had  married  young  and  happily,  yet  it 
turned  out  as  if  he  should  not  have  married  at  all. 
"  With  his  wife,"  says  his  biographer,  *'  he  suffered  the 
most  strait  penuries  of  his  life,  with  her  he  sustained 
the  most  cruel  afflictions  of  his  spirit,  and  with  her 
also  he  ate  the  hard  crust  of  sorrow."  The  marriage 
became  a  misfortune  in  this  way  :  Pope  Julius  died, 
and  his  successor,  objecting  to  married  men  as  singers 
in  the  chapel,  discharged  Palestrina,  who  had  to  take 
a  poorly-paid  post  in  another  church. 


8  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

But  then,  in  1 562,  came  the  sittings  of  that  famous 
Council  of  Trent  which  determined  so  many  points 
in  church  procedure  and  polity.  The  Council  ex- 
pressed itself  as  dissatisfied  with  the  prevailing  style 
of  church  music.  It  was  too  frivolous,  too  much  tinged 
with  secularity,  they  said.  In  fact,  they  condemned 
it  root  and  branch,  and  proclaimed  the  need  for  a 
higher  and  purer  style.  Now  came  Palestrina's  oppor- 
tunity. He  had  proved  himself  a  master  of  music,  and 
the  Pope  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  produce 
a  Mass  in  the  manner  demanded  by  the  Council. 
Palestrina  jumped  at  the  idea,  and  by  1565  had  com- 
pleted three  Masses,  which  a  Commission  of  Cardinals 
declared  to  be  the  very  thing  that  was  wanted  to  save 
church  music  from  the  utter  degradation  with  which 
it  had  been  threatened.  Casting  aside  the  learned 
yet  puerile  combinations  which  had  been  in  vogue, 
Palestrina  wrote  in  a  style  pure  and  serene,  free  from 
agitation  or  excitement,  with  no  sentimentality  and  no 
affectation.  We  who  live  in  the  strenuous  atmosphere 
of  the  twentieth  century  can  hardly  get  into  the  con- 
dition of  mind  to  understand  and  feel  the  almost 
angelic  beauty  and  sweetness  of  his  work,  though 
indeed  there  are  few  chances  of  hearing  it.  We  must 
be  content  to  know  that,  though  perhaps  not  actively 
or  directly,  it  continues  to  influence  and  correct  the 
art  of  all  the  more  serious-minded  church  composers. 
Palestrina  died  in  the  fulness  of  his  fame  in  February 
1594,  when  Shakespeare  was  thirty  years  old,  and  was 
just  getting  into  print  for  the  first  time. 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID,  WAS  YOUNG     9 

After  Palestrina,  and  before  Bach  and  Handel,  there 
are  no  Continental  composers  of  sufficient  note  to  de- 
tain us  ;  though  it  was  within  this  period  that  the  great 
forms  of  opera  and  oratorio  sprang  into  being.  Indeed, 
the  first  opera  ever  written  was  produced  in  the  very 
year  of  Palestrina's  death.  This  was  Dafne,  composed 
by  Jacopo  Peri,  one  of  a  Florentine  coterie  oi  dilettanti. 
It  was  a  very  primitive  kind  of  work,  with  only  four 
instruments  (harpsichord,  viol  di  gamba,  lute,  and  harp) 
for  accompaniment.  But  it  proved  a  huge  success,  and 
the  result  was  a  second  opera,  Eurydice^  produced  on 
the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  Mary  de  Medicis  with 
Henry  IV.  of  France  in  1600.  Peri  is  described  as 
having  "  an  aureole  of  notoriously  ardent  hair,"  what- 
ever that  may  mean.  He  was  a  very  avaricious  person. 
Of  noble  birth  himself,  he  grew  rich  on  the  favour  of  the 
Medicis,  and  added  to  his  wealth  by  marrying  a  fine 
lady  who  brought  with  her  a  very  handsome  dot. 

Peri's  operas  were,  of  course,  mere  experiments. 
It  was  left  for  Claudio  Monteverde  (i 566-1650),  a 
Milanese  musician,  to  give  a  pronounced  form  to  the 
opera.  Monteverde  has  been  glowingly  described  as 
"  the  first  opera  composer  by  the  grace  of  God,  a  real 
musical  genius,  the  father  of  instrumentation."  Less 
enthusiastically,  we  may  call  him  the  Wagner  of  his 
time,  since  in  his  harmonies  and  general  style  he  was 
so  daringly  in  advance  of  his  age.  Thus,  in  an  opera 
of  1624,  he  introduced  instrumental  effects  which  were 
almost  Wagnerian  in  their  attempts  to  convey  to 
listeners  an  idea  of  the  feelings  animating  the  several 


10  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

characters.  He  indicates,  for  instance,  the  galloping  of 
horses  and  the  fierceness  of  their  riders  pretty  much  as 
Wagner  does  in  his  Ride  of  the  Valkyries.  Monteverde 
had  many  competitors  in  opera,  but  he  easily  eclipsed 
them  all,  and  in  a  few  years  gave  opera  quite  a  new 
complexion.  It  is  said  that  he  entered  the  church  after 
the  death  of  his  wife,  when  he  was  about  sixty-five  years 
of  age.  By  and  by  the  Neapolitan  Alessandro  Scarlatti 
(1659-1725)  burst  on  the  scene  and  established  the 
real  Italian  opera,  which  has  now  held  sway  for  so 
many  years  in  so  many  different  countries. 

What  Monteverde  did  for  opera  was  done  for 
oratorio  by  Giacomo  Carissimi  (i 582-1672),  who  often 
wrote  for  the  voices  in  that  broad  and  simple  style 
which  Handel  popularised  a  whole  century  later.  The 
development  of  oratorio,  in  fact,  progressed  side  by  side 
with  the  development  of  opera.  But  oratorio  has  had  a 
much  shorter  active  existence  than  opera.  The  opera, 
like  Tennyson's  brook,  seems  destined  to  go  on  for 
ever,  while  the  oratorio  really  lives  only  in  the  master- 
pieces of  Handel  and  Mendelssohn,  with  an  occasional 
spurt  from  Haydn.  Practically,  as  regards  its  form, 
Handel  said  the  last  word  in  oratorio ;  whereas  the 
opera  was  in  a  state  of  evolution  right  up  to  the  time 
of  Wagner,  if  it  is  not  in  a  state  of  evolution  even 
now. 

And  what  was  England  doing  for  music  all  this 
time?  Not  very  much  that  has  proved  permanent. 
England  had  a  host  of  composers  of  all  kinds,  but 
their  names  are,  for  the  most  part,  altogether  unknown 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID,  WAS  YOUNG    1 1 

in  the  great  world  of  music.  Some  call  this — the  time 
before  Handel  and  Bach  —  the  golden  age  of  English 
music ;  reminding  us  that  in  those  far-away  days 
flourished  such  composers  as  John  Dunstable,  Chris- 
topher Tye,  Thomas  Tallis,  William  Byrde,  Richard 
Farrant,  John  Dowland,  Orlando  Gibbons,  John  Bull, 
Henry  Lawes,  Jeremiah  Clark,  and  William  Croft, 
among  many  more.  These  names,  or  some  of  them, 
are  interesting  enough.  Thus  Tye  was  the  music- 
master  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  prided  herself  upon 
the  playing  of  the  virginals,  a  primitive  precursor  of 
the  piano.  Byrde,  also,  was  intimately  connected  with 
the  Queen,  being  one  of  the  chief  contributors  to  her 
Virginal  Book.  Tallis  survives  in  the  common-metre 
church  tune  bearing  his  name,  as  well  as  in  the  tune 
of  the  evening  hymn,  "  All  praise  to  Thee,  my  God, 
this  night."  To  John  Bull  some  are  inclined  to  attribute 
(and  very  properly,  considering  his  name)  the  tune  of 
"God  save  the  King."  Dowland  would  be  worth 
mentioning  if  only  because  Shakespeare  made  a  sonnet 
about  him — "  If  music  and  sweet  poetry  agree  "  ;  and 
Henry  Lawes  is  interesting  for  a  similar  reason,  namely, 
that  Milton  celebrated  him  in  the  lines — 

Harry,  whose  tuneful  and  well-measured  notes 
First  taught  our  English  music  how  to  span 
Words  with  just  note  and  accent. 

Jeremiah  Clark  wrote  cathedral  music  which  is  still 
performed,  and  William  Croft  some  noble  anthems 
and  some  hymn-tunes,  such  as  "Hanover"  and  "St. 
Anne,"  that  are  heard  regularly  in  all  the  churches. 


12  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Every  one  of  these  musicians  was  born  before  Handel, 
and  every  one  of  them  did  something  notable,  each  in 
his  own  way,  though,  comparatively,  it  was  a  small 
way. 

There  is,  in  truth,  but  one  really  great  name  in 
English  music  before  the  days  of  Handel  and  Bach. 
That  is  the  name  of  Henry  Purcell,  who  died  ten  years 
after  these  masters  were  born.  There  are  those  who 
contend  that  Purcell  is  the  only  real  musical  genius 
Britain  has  ever  produced.  One  recent  writer  calls 
him  "our  last  great  musician,"  which  is  not  compli- 
mentary to  later  composers  !  He  was  a  sort  of  musical 
Shakespeare  of  his  time,  and  hardly  more  is  known 
of  him  than  we  know  of  the  man  who  wrote  Hamlet 
and  Macbeth.  Born  in  1658,  he  lived  in  the  London 
of  Samuel  Pepys,  the  diarist,  and  died  in  1695,  having 
written  complimentary  odes  to  three  Kings — Charles 
II.,  James  II.,  and  William  III.  Besides  these  odes, 
he  wrote  "  piles  of  instrumental  music,  a  fair  heap  of 
anthems  and  songs,  and  interludes  and  overtures  for 
some  forty  odd  plays."  This  is  really  all  that  we  know 
about  Henry  Purcell.  But  it  is  mildly  interesting  to 
note  that  he  was  made  organist  of  Westminster  Abbey 
(where  he  is  buried)  at  the  early  age  of  eighteen,  and  that 
he  met  his  death  at  thirty-seven  (such  is  the  story)  by  his 
wife  shutting  him  out  one  cold  winter  night  because  he 
came  home  late.  Perhaps  it  was  a  feeling  of  remorse 
that  led  the  widow  to  collect  her  husband's  composi- 
tions and  publish  them  with  a  highly  laudatory  dedica- 
tion.   The  Abbey  epitaph  ought  to  have  pleased  her 


WHEN  MUSIC,  HEAVENLY  MAID,  WAS  YOUNG    13 

at  any  rate  :  "  Here  lyes  Henry  Purcell,  Esquire,  who 
left  this  life,  and  is  gone  to  that  blessed  place  where 
only  his  harmony  can  be  exceeded." 

Purcell's  works  appeal  mainly  to  musicians  and  musi- 
cal antiquaries,  for  they  are  seldom  performed.  He 
had  a  passion  for  expressing  words  in  notes  ;  as  when, 
in  his  setting  of  the  text,  "  They  that  go  down  to  the 
sea  in  ships,"  he  plunges  the  bass  down  a  couple  of 
octaves,  and  then  at  the  words  "  up  to  heaven,"  keeps 
him  straining  his  voice  on  a  high  dotted  crotchet.  Com- 
posers much  greater  than  Purcell  went  in  for  musical 
word-paintingof  that  kind.  The  "  plagues"  in  Handel's 
Israel  in  Egypt  are  full  of  far-fetched  musical  word- 
pictures  ;  Haydn's  Creation  has  "  a  long  and  sinuous 
worm "  and  a  sportive  leviathan  ;  Mendelssohn  tries 
to  reproduce  the  bray  of  the  donkey  in  his  Midsummer 
NigJifs  Dream  ;  and  even  Beethoven  introduces  a  real 
cuckoo  into  his  Pastoral  Symphony.  We  should  re- 
gard this  sort  of  thing  as  childish  now.  But  Purcell 
at  least  had  no  idea  of  being  childish.  He  was  per- 
fectly serious,  and  though  we  cannot  possibly  agree 
with  Dr.  Burney,  the  musical  historian,  that  in  passion 
and  expression  his  vocal  music  is  "as  superior  to 
Handel's  as  an  original  poem  to  a  translation,"  we 
must  nevertheless  admit  that  this  man  who  was  so 
prematurely  cut  off  was  one  of  the  greatest  musicians 
England  has  given  birth  to.  And  so,  with  that  com- 
forting statement  to  close  our  introductory  survey,  let 
us  turn  to  Handel  and  Bach  and  the  line  of  masters 
who  came  after  them. 


GEORGE    FREDERICK    HANDEL: 
THE    MAKER   OF   THE   MESSIAH 

Remember  Handel  ?    Who,  that  was  not  bom 
Deaf  as  the  dead  to  harmony,  forgets, 
Or  can,  the  more  than  Homer  of  his  age  ? 

COWPER. 

Handel  and  Bach  were  the  earliest  of  the  great  com- 
posers whose  works  are  regularly  performed  to-day. 
Yet  how  little  the  average  amateur  knows  about  them  ! 
This  is  especially  curious  in  the  case  of  Handel,  for 
Handel  was  English  in  everything  but  the  accident  of 
his  birth.  He  spent  nearly  all  his  working  life  in  Eng- 
land ;  he  had  himself  "  naturalised "  as  an  English- 
man ;  he  wrote  nearly  every  one  of  his  notable  works 
in  England  and  to  English  words  ;  and,  gathering  up 
all  that  had  gone  before  him  in  English  music,  he 
embodied  it  in  himself,  and  practically  became  the 
father  of  modern  English  composition.  His  remains 
rest  with  England's  own  great  in  Westminster  Abbey, 
and  the  recurrent  Handel  Festivals  at  the  Crystal 
Palace,  to  say  nothing  of  repeated  performances  of 
the  Messiah  by  all  the  leading  choral  societies,  keep 
his  name  and  his  music  green. 

14 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  15 

George  Frederick  Handel  was  born  at  the  quaint 
little  town  of  Halle,  about  an  hour's  ride  from  Leipzig, 
in  February  1685.  His  father,  then  sixty-three  years 
old,  was  one  of  those  oft- mentioned  barbers  who 
were  at  the  same  time  surgeons  and  dentists.  He 
meant  his  George  Frederick  to  be  a  lawyer,  for  music 
seemed  to  him  an  undignified  sort  of  amusement,  fit 
only  for  Italian  fiddlers  and  French  buffoons.  Handel 
himself  had  a  reminder  of  this  idea  when  at  Oxford, 
many  years  later,  he  and  his  company  of  fellow- 
professionals  were  described  by  one  of  the  papers  as 
"  a  lousy  crew."  Barber  Handel  showed  himself  very 
determined  on  the  point.  When  his  boy  evinced  an 
unmistakable  bent  for  music,  the  barber  did  everything 
he  could  to  thwart  it.  All  musical  instruments  were 
put  out  of  reach,  and  George  was  even  kept  from 
school  in  case  he  should  there  learn  somethine  of  the 
tabooed  art  of  St.  Cecilia. 

But  George  had  managed  to  drag  a  rickety  spinet 
(a  weak-sounding  kind  of  piano)  away  up  to  the  attic 
where  he  slept,  and  when  the  rest  of  the  household 
were  in  bed  he  would  creep  quietly  to  the  instrument 
and  exercise  his  tiny  fingers  until  they  ached  and  his 
eyes  blinked.  In  this  way  he  succeeded  in  teaching 
himself  to  play  before  any  one  knew  anything  about 
it.  The  full  discovery  came  about  rather  curiously. 
Young  Handel  had  a  half-brother  in  the  service  of  the 
Duke  of  Saxe-Weissenfels,  not  far  from  Halle.  One 
day,  in  1692,  the  father  set  off  on  a  visit  to  the  Duke's 
place.    He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  found  that  his 


1 6  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

seven-year-old  George  was  running  after  the  coach, 
and  having  no  heart  to  turn  the  boy  back,  he  took 
him  along.  The  trifling  circumstance  formed  the  turn- 
ing point  in  Handel's  career.  One  day,  at  Saxe-Weis- 
senfels,  he  stole  unnoticed  to  the  organ  in  the  Duke's 
chapel.  He  began  playing.  The  Duke  happened  to 
be  near.  He  was  a  musical  man,  and  he  remarked  the 
unusual  touch  of  the  little  fingers.  That  decided  it. 
He  sent  for  Doctor  Handel,  told  him  he  must  not 
think  of  making  a  lawyer  of  his  son,  and  practically 
gave  orders  that  he  should  be  set  to  the  study  of 
music  at  once.  So  young  Handel  was  put  to  work 
with  the  cathedral  organist  at  Halle.  He  laboured  at 
harmony  and  counterpoint,  and  canon  and  fugue,  and 
all  the  other  dry  bones  of  music  ;  perfected  himself  on 
the  organ  and  the  harpsichord  (another  forerunner  of 
the  piano)  ;  learnt  the  violin  and  the  oboe  ;  and  began 
to  compose. 

Presently  his  father  died,  and  having  to  get  his 
own  living  he  went  to  Hamburg,  at  that  time  the 
most  musical  city  in  Germany,  as  a  violinist  at  the 
opera.  Here  he  drudged  away  for  a  while,  always 
looking  for  a  better  and  more  congenial  appointment. 
He  had  made  friends  with  Johann  Mattheson,  a  versatile 
musician  then  singing  as  a  tenor  at  the  opera.  One 
day  Mattheson  and  he  started  on  what  proved  to  be  a 
very  amusing  errand  to  Lubeck.  An  organist's  post 
had  been  declared  vacant,  and  the  pair  determined  to 
try  for  it.  Unfortunately,  when  they  arrived  at  Lubeck, 
they  found  that  there  was  an  impossible  stipulation  : 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  17 

the  successful  candidate  had  to  marry  the  daughter 
of  the  retiring  organist !  One  look  at  the  lady  was 
enough.  "  She  was  not  fair  to  see,  and  her  years  were 
thirty-four,"  while  Handel  was  only  eighteen.  A  speedy 
return  to  Hamburg  was  the  result  of  the  interview. 
Handel,  it  may  be  said  at  once,  remained  a  bachelor 
to  the  end  of  his  life.  An  Italian  lady  took  his  fancy 
as  a  young  man,  and  he  became  engaged  to  her,  but 
for  some  reason  the  match  was  broken  off.  Subse- 
quently, he  would  have  married  an  English  lady  of 
large  fortune  if  she  had  not  insisted  that  he  must  give 
up  his  profession.  Perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  he  re- 
mained unmated.  He  was  an  irascible  person,  and  he 
might  have  done  as  Beethoven  did  with  his  cook,  and 
thrown  the  soup  in  his  wife's  face  when  something 
went  wrong  with  his  temper. 

It  was  at  Hamburg  that  Handel  produced  his  first 
operas.  But  there  is  no  occasion  to  talk  of  his  operas, 
for  they  are  all  completely  forgotten  now,  though  airs 
from  some  of  them  are  occasionally  sung.  One  incident 
of  the  Hamburg  period  must,  however,  be  mentioned. 
Mattheson  and  Handel  were  both  crack  harpsichordists, 
and  the  harpsichord  was  an  essential  of  the  theatre 
orchestra  in  those  days.  At  the  opera  Handel  usually 
played  the  violin,  while  Mattheson  played  the  harpsi- 
chord. But  Mattheson  had  written  an  opera,  Cleopatra^ 
which  was  being  staged  at  Hamburg.  He  was  to  sing 
in  it  himself,  so  Handel  took  his  place  at  the  harpsi- 
chord. But  Mattheson,  it  appeared,  sometimes  did  the 
double  duty  of  playing  on  the  stage  as  well  as  in  the 

C 


i8  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

band ;  and  on  this  occasion,  after  the  death  of 
Antony,  he  came  down  into  the  orchestra  and  de- 
manded his  accustomed  seat  there.  Handel  refused  to 
rise,  and  a  quarrel  immediately  ensued.  Nothing  less 
than  a  duel  could  be  expected,  and  as  soon  as  they 
were  outside  the  theatre,  the  rivals  drew  their  swords 
and  began  slashing  at  each  other.  Mattheson  was  the 
better  fencer,  and  Handel  was  only  saved  to  posterity 
by  a  big  brass  button  on  his  coat,  which  broke  the  point 
of  Mattheson's  sword. 

Having  put  past  some  money,  Handel  now  set  off 
on  a  pilgrimage  to  Italy,  the  "  land  of  song."  He  arrived 
in  Florence  in  1707,  and  he  remained  in  Italy,  studying 
her  native  masters,  composing  operas  and  other  works, 
for  about  three  years.  Artistically  this  visit  was  of 
great  use  to  him,  adding  the  grace  of  a  refined,  melo- 
dious style  to  the  bold,  majestic,  but  somewhat  rugged 
strength  of  his  work  as  a  German  of  the  somewhat 
severe  type.  When  he  left  Italy  in  1709,  it  was  for 
Hanover.  He  had  met  the  Elector  of  Hanover  (the 
future  George  I.)  at  Venice,  and  was  invited  to  visit  the 
Court.  On  more  intimate  acquaintance,  the  Elector 
conceived  a  strong  liking  for  him,  and  made  him  his 
kapellmeister  at  a  salary  of  ;^300  a  year.  He  would 
allow  Handel,  he  said,  a  year's  holiday  whenever  he 
asked  for  it.  Handel  asked  for  the  holiday  straight 
away,  and  in  the  winter  of  17 10  he  saw  London,  his 
future  home,  for  the  first  time.  Little  can  he  have 
thought  then  of  the  English  capital  as  the  scene  of  his 
greatest  artistic  triumphs,  or  of  how  the  English  people 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  19 

were  to  become  the  most  ardent  admirers  of  his  genius. 
Very  likely  he  looked  upon  this  first  visit  as  a  mere 
pleasure-trip  ;  yet  the  ultimate  outcome  was  a  series  of 
masterpieces  in  oratorio  without  which  Handel's  genius 
would  never  have  been  fully  revealed,  and  in  the  ab- 
sence of  which  his  name  would  exist  now  only  in  the 
dull  pages  of  musical  history. 

When  Handel  came  to  England,  Purcell  had  been 
dead  for  fifteen  years.  Arne,  the  composer  of  "  Rule, 
Britannia!"  was  only  just  born,  and  the  few  good  men 
who  were  living  and  working  were  devoted  almost 
entirely  to  minor  forms  like  the  anthem,  the  glee,  and 
the  madrigal.  The  time  was  therefore  ripe  for  a  genius 
like  Handel.  Opera  was  in  such  a  low  state  that  one 
work  actually  contained  a  part  for  a  pig.  Aaron  Hill, 
the  manager  of  the  Queen's  Theatre  in  the  Hay- 
market,  got  hold  of  Handel  at  once  and  asked  him 
to  write  an  opera  for  his  establishment.  Rinaldo  was 
chosen  for  a  subject,  and  Handel  went  to  work  with 
such  eagerness  that  the  poor  librettist  could  not  provide 
him  with  the  words  fast  enough.  When  the  thing  was 
finished,  the  librettist  made  this  plaintive  appeal  to  the 
public  :  "  I  implore  you  to  consider  the  speed  I  have  had 
to  work,  and  if  my  performance  does  not  deserve  your 
praises,  at  all  events  do  not  refuse  it  your  compassion  ; 
for  Herr  Handel,  the  Orpheus  of  our  age,  has  scarcely 
given  me  time  to  write  while  composing  the  music ; 
and  I  have  been  stupefied  to  see  an  entire  opera  set 
to  harmony  with  the  highest  degree  of  perfection  in  no 
more  than  a  fortnight."    We  shall  hear  more  of  the 


20  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

phenomenal  rapidity  with  which  Handel  composed. 
Rinaldo  proved  to  be  the  finest  opera  that  had  ever 
been  produced  in  England,  and  its  success  was  quite 
brilliant.  Walsh,  the  London  music-seller,  published  it 
soon  after,  and  made  so  much  more  out  of  it  than 
Handel  himself,  that  Handel  observed  to  him  :  "  You 
shall  compose  the  next  opera  and  I  will  publish  it." 

By  this  single  work  Handel  had  fully  established  his 
fame  in  London.  But  Handel  himself  was  not  estab- 
lished there  just  yet.  He  was  drawing  the  Hanover 
salary,  and  he  must  return  to  his  Hanover  duties.  In 
reality,  he  remained  only  sixteen  months  at  Hanover, 
which  he  found  excessively  dull  after  London.  He 
asked  a  fresh  leave  of  absence  and  came  back  to  us  in 
1 71 2.  That  year  he  was  out  with  a  new  opera  at  the 
Haymarket ;  wrote  an  Ode  for  Queen  Anne's  Birthday 
in  1713 ;  and  was  commissioned  by  her  Majesty  to  com- 
pose a  Te  Deum  and  Jubilate  to  celebrate  the  Peace  of 
Utrecht  the  same  year.  Anne  was  so  delighted  that 
she  gave  Handel  a  pension  of  £200  a  year.  Thus  pro- 
vided for,  the  composer  stayed  on  in  London,  indifferent 
about  his  Hanover  engagement.  He  only  realised  the 
awkwardness  of  his  situation  when  Queen  Anne  died 
and  the  Elector  came  over  from  Hanover  to  be  crowned 
as  George  I.  He  found  himself  persistently  ignored  at 
Court,  the  King  declining  to  have  any  intercourse  with 
him.  A  reconciliation  was  at  length  effected  in  this 
way :  Baron  Kielmansegge,  a  mutual  friend  of  King  and 
composer,  having  been  invited  to  form  one  of  the  Court 
party  in  an  excursion  on  the  Thames,  advised  Handel 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  21 

to  prepare  music  for  the  occasion.  Handel  took 
the  hint  and  wrote  what  is  known  as  his  Water 
Music.  It  was  performed  in  a  boat  which  followed  the 
royal  barge,  Handel  himself  conducting.  George  was 
charmed  with  the  effect,  and  inquiring  as  to  the  source 
of  the  music,  was  told  all  about  it  by  Kielmansegge,who 
at  the  same  time  interceded  on  Handel's  behalf.  George 
could  hold  out  no  longer.  He  took  Handel  metaphori- 
cally to  his  arms,  and  bestowed  on  him  a  further 
pension  of  ;^200  a  year. 

Handel  made  a  visit  to  the  Continent  in  17 16,  but 
he  was  back  in  London  in  17 17,  and  in  London  he 
remained  ever  after.  He  secured  an  important  appoint- 
ment as  musical  director  to  the  magnificent  Duke  of 
Chandos,  who  had  built  himself  a  splendid  mansion 
at  Cannons,  in  the  suburbs.  The  Duke  had  a  private 
chapel  where  a  daily  musical  service  was  performed  by 
"  a  choir  of  voices  and  instruments  superior  in  excel- 
lence and  numbers  to  that  of  any  sovereign  potentate 
in  Europe."  Handel's  duty  was  to  train  and  lead  the 
choir,  to  play  the  organ,  and  write  music  for  the  chapel. 
It  was  here  that  he  wrote  Esther,  the  first  of  those  great 
oratorios  (itself  not  of  the  great)  upon  which  his  fame 
rests.  The  Duke  paid  him  ^1000  for  it,  though  it  was 
performed  at  Cannons  only  three  or  four  times.  It  was 
at  Cannons,  too,  that  Acis  and  Galatea  was  written. 
And  then  there  was  the  famous  pianoforte  piece  known 
as  The  Harmonious  Blacksmith,  one  of  a  suite  des 
pieces  written  for  the  harpsichord.  There  is  a  familiar 
but  rather  questionable  story  connecting  it  with  one 


22  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Powell,  a  blacksmith  at  Edgware  in  Handel's  time. 
The  story  is  that  one  day,  during  a  heavy  shower, 
Handel  took  shelter  in  the  blacksmith's,  and  was  so 
charmed  with  the  musical  sound  of  the  blacksmith's 
hammer  on  the  anvil  that  he  went  home  and  wrote  the 
air  and  its  variations.  But  Handel's  biographers  tell  us 
that  this  particular  piece  was  almost  certainly  written 
before  Handel  went  to  Cannons  at  all ;  and  it  is  signi- 
ficant that  the  title  of  Harmonious  Blacksmith  was 
given  to  it,  not  by  Handel  himself,  but  by  a  music 
publisher  in  Bath  whose  father  was  a  blacksmith  and 
was  fond  of  the  tune.  The  anvil  story  is  a  pretty  story, 
and  one  hesitates  to  spoil  it,  but  it  has  really  no  solid 
foundation. 

Handel's  service  with  the  Duke  of  Chandos  con- 
tinued until  1 72 1,  but  two  years  before  that  he  had 
embarked  on  a  gigantic  operatic  enterprise  under  the 
title  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music.  For  this  under- 
taking he  wrote  a  large  number  of  operas,  all  long 
since  buried  in  oblivion,  but  the  finances  of  the  enter- 
prise proved  so  disastrous  that  he  twice  became  bank- 
rupt. In  any  readable  account  of  Handel's  career,  the 
main  interest  of  this  period  is  the  way  he  managed 
his  operatic  vocal  team.  Singers  are  proverbially 
touchy  and  troublesome ;  none  more  so  than  operatic 
singers,  who  are  a  continual  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  the 
impresario.  In  Handel  they  found  their  match — and 
more.  His  first  encounter  was  with  Francesca  Cuzzoni, 
a  distinguished  Italian  vocalist,  who,  from  being  the 
reigning  star  of  her  day,  ended  by  making  silk  buttons 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  23 

ior  a  living.  Handel  had  written  an  air  expressly  for 
her,  and  she  flatly  refused  to  sing  it.  This  was  too  much. 
It  was  a  case  of  Greek  meeting  Greek.  "I  know,  madam, 
that  you  are  a  very  devil,"  roared  Handel,  "  but  I  will 
let  you  see  that  I  am  Beelzebub,  the  prince  of  devils." 
And  with  that  he  seized  her  in  his  arms  and  was 
preparing  to  throw  her  out  of  the  window,  when  she 
eagerly  declared  that  she  would  sing. 

Somethingof  the  same  kind  happened  with  Carestini, 
who  declined  to  sing  an  air  which  Handel  had  written 
purposely  to  show  off  his  voice.  "  You  dog  ! "  he  cried, 
"don't  I  know  better  as  yourself  what  is  good  for  you 
to  sing?  If  you  will  not  sing  all  the  songs  I  give  you, 
I  will  not  pay  you  ein  stiver."  And,  as  had  happened 
with  Cuzzoni,  that  particular  song  was  the  one  in  which 
Carestini  produced  his  greatest  effect. 

Handel's  characteristic  boldness  was  further  illus- 
trated by  his  engagement  of  Faustina,  who  was 
Cuzzoni's  deadly  rival — just  as  if  Jenny  Lind  and 
Madame  Patti  had  been  pitted  against  each  other. 
How  Handel  could  have  hoped  to  get  the  pair  into  the 
same  opera  "  cast "  it  is  impossible  to  imagine.  Horace 
Walpole  tells  a  very  amusing  story  of  his  mother's 
attempts  to  keep  the  peace  between  them.  On  Sundays, 
when  Sir  Robert  Walpole  was  absent,  she  used  to  in- 
vite them  both  to  dinner,  and  by  discreet  diplomacy 
obtained  sufficient  concession  from  both  sides  to  ensure 
a  pleasant  meeting.  One  evening,  however,  when  all 
the  rank  and  fashion  of  London  were  present  at  one 
of  her  receptions,  she  found  it  so  difficult  to  settle  the 


24  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

question  of  precedence  between  the  rivals  that  she  had 
almost  given  up  all  hope  of  hearing  them  sing,  when, 
by  a  lucky  inspiration,  she  spirited  Faustina  away  to  a 
distant  room  underpretenceof  showing  her  somecurious 
china.  Cuzzoni,  assuming  that  her  opponent  had  gone, 
consented  to  sing ;  and  when  her  songs  were  finished, 
Lady  Walpole  armed  her  away  upon  a  similar  pretext, 
while  the  company  listened  to  Faustina  ! 

Of  course  at  the  opera  there  could  be  no  expedients 
of  that  kind,  and  Handel's  trick  was  to  compose  duets 
for  the  rivals,  in  which  the  voice  parts  were  so  nicely 
balanced  and  crossed  each  other  so  frequently,  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  each  singer  the  upper  part  by  turns, 
that  nobody  could  tell  which  was  singing  first  and 
which  second.  Each  of  these  stars  received  two  thou- 
sand guineas  per  annum  for  her  services.  It  is  recorded 
that  Cuzzoni  took  a  solemn  oath  never  to  sing  for  less 
than  Faustina  ;  and  that  Handel,  wishing  to  get  rid  of 
her,  offered  her  two  thousand  guineas  and  Faustina 
two  thousand  and  one,  whereupon  she  retired.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Handel  was  never  out  of  hot  water  with 
his  singers.  There  is  a  story  of  one  getting  into  a 
passion  because  the  composer  did  not  accompanyhim  to 
his  taste.  "  If  you  do  not  change  your  style  of  accom- 
paniment," cried  the  angry  vocalist,  "  I  will  jump  upon 
the  harpsichord  and  smash  it."  Handel  looked  up  with 
a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "  Let  me  know  when  you  will  do 
that,"  he  replied,  "  and  I  will  advertise  it.  I  am  sure 
more  people  will  come  to  see  you  jump  than  will  come 
to  hear  you  sing." 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  25 

It  is  curious  to  reflect  upon  the  consequences  of 
Handel's  financial  failures  with  opera.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  form  as  well  as  in  the  subjects  of  oratorio 
music  especially  appropriate  to  Handel's  genius;  yet 
such  were  the  force  of  habit  and  the  tyranny  of  fashion 
that  if  Handel  had  made  money  by  his  operas  he  would 
probably  have  gone  on  writing  operas  and  nothing 
else  to  the  end  of  his  days.  The  Fates  had  happily 
ordered  it  otherwise.  Julius  Caesar  won  all  his  great 
victories  after  he  was  fifty.  When  the  earlier  of  his 
great  oratorios  were  written,  Handel  had  reached  the 
same  epoch  of  life — a  time  when  genius  is  supposed  to 
have  lost  some  of  its  vigour,  when  both  the  mental  and 
the  physical  powers  are  at  least  not  in  the  ascendant. 
But  Handel  was  a  marvel. 

He  had  written  about  forty  operas,  besides  other 
works,  when,  in  1738,  he  turned  finally  to  oratorio, 
and  produced  his  Saul^  composed  in  a  little  over  two 
months.  Saul  is  never  heard  now,  but  everybody 
knows  its  deeply  impressive  "  Dead  March,"  which 
occurs  towards  the  end,  just  after  the  news  of  the  death 
of  Saul  and  Jonathan  is  brought  to  David.  A  year 
later  came  Israel  in  Egypt  (written  in  fifteen  days), 
which,  after  the  Messiah  and  Judas  Maccabceus,  is 
perhaps  the  most  popular  and  the  most  frequently 
performed  of  all  Handel's  oratorios.  It  was  not  a  great 
success  when  first  given  in  London  in  1739,  but  that 
was  due  largely  to  the  fact  that  the  chorus-singing 
of  Handel's  time  was  quite  unequal  to  a  work  so 
gigantic  in  conception  and  execution.    Choruses  were 


26  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

comparatively  small  then,  and  were,  besides,  composed 
entirely  of  male  voices. 

Handel  was  naturally  disappointed  with  the  London 
reception  of  Israel  \  and  so,  when  he  had  completed 
his  Messiah,  the  greatest  of  all  his  oratorios,  he  carried 
the  score  to  Dublin,  and  had  the  work  performed  there 
for  the  first  time,  in  April  1742.  The  manuscript  is 
still  in  existence,  and  from  dates  inscribed  on  it  we 
gather  that  the  entire  work  was  begun  and  completed 
within  twenty-three  days  !  The  Dublin  audience  had 
been  called  together  by  the  following  advertisement : 
**  For  the  Relief  of  the  Prisoners  in  the  several  Gaols, 
and  for  the  Support  of  Mercer's  Hospital,  in  Stephen's 
Street,  and  of  the  Charitable  Infirmary  on  the  Inn's 
Quay,  on  Monday,  the  13th  of  April,  will  be  performed 
at  the  Musick  Hall  at  Fishamble  Street,  Mr.  Handell's 
new  Grand  Oratorio,  called  '  The  Messiah,'  in  which 
the  Gentlemen  of  the  Choirs  of  both  Cathedrals  will 
assist,  with  some  Concertos  on  the  Organ  by  Mr. 
Handell."  The  advertisement  further  requested  the 
ladies  to  come  without  their  hoops  and  the  gentlemen 
without  their  swords,  which  would  "enable  the  stewards 
to  seat  seven  hundred  persons  instead  of  six."  Even 
so  late  as  Haydn's  visits  to  London  these  impedimenta 
of  the  ladies  gave  serious  concern  to  concert  makers. 
Thus  we  are  told  that  the  royal  Princesses  wore  hoops 
so  wide  that  the  Court  attendants  had  to  hold  up  the 
monstrosities  in  order  to  enable  their  wearers  to  pass 
through  the  doorways.  And  yet  we  hear  continual 
talk  about  a  proposed  revival  of  the  crinoline  ! 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  27 

"  Mr.  HandeU's  "  oratorio  was  received  with  extra- 
ordinary fervour  by  the  Dublin  people.  A  clergyman 
in  the  audience  is  stated  to  have  so  far  forgotten  himself 
as  to  exclaim  at  the  close  of  one  of  Mrs.  Gibber's  airs, 
*'  Woman,  for  this  be  all  thy  sins  forgiven  thee ! " 
Another  enthusiast  dropped  into  poetry  and  delivered 
himself  of  the  following  couplet : 

To  harmony  like  his  celestial  power  was  given, 

To  exalt  the  soul  from  earth  and  make  of  hell  a  heaven. 

A  sum  of  ;^400  was  realised  by  the  performance,  which, 
deducting  only  ;^20  for  expenses,  was  divided  among 
the  three  institutions  named  in  the  advertisement. 
It  was  the  most  triumphant  event  in  Handel's  life. 
Already  he  had  lost  a  fortune  by  Italian  opera ;  the 
colossal  Israel  in  Egypt  had  been  received  with  cold 
indifference.  But  now  all  this  was  amply  atoned  for, 
and  Handel  stood  approved  as  the  greatest  composer 
of  the  greatest  oratorio  that  had  ever  been  written. 
The  Messiah  was  not  performed  in  London  until 
March  1743,  when  it  was  produced  at  Covent  Garden. 
It  had  at  first  nothing  like  the  success  it  achieved  in 
Dublin,  but  gradually  it  got  to  be  appreciated,  and  its 
position  now  is  known  to  all  lovers  of  music. 

Back  in  London  in  1742,  Handel  went  on  with  his 
oratorio  work,  producing  Samson,  Judas  MaccabcBus, 
Solomon,  Theodora,  and  JephtJia.  Although  these  are 
not  well  known,  certain  portions  of  them  are  familiar 
enough  :  such,  for  instance,  as  **  Honour  and  Arms " 
and  "  Let  the  bright  Seraphim "  from  Samson  ;  the 
beautiful  soprano  air  "  Angels,  ever  bright  and  fair," 


28  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

from  Theodora;  the  equally  beautiful  "  Waft  her,  angels, 
to  the  skies,"  from  JcpJitJia  ;  and  "  See,  the  conquering 
hero  comes,"  from  Judas  Maccabceus.  Of  this  latter  a 
story  may  be  told.  Soon  after  Handel  had  completed 
it,  he  played  it  to  a  friend  and  asked  him  how  he  liked 
it.  "  Not  so  well  as  some  other  things  of  yours,"  was 
the  candid  reply.  ''  Nor  I,  either,"  said  Handel,  "  but 
you  will  live  to  see  it  a  greater  favourite  with  the  people 
than  some  of  my  finer  things."  The  truth  of  which 
forecast  has  been  abundantly  proved. 

It  was  in  175 1  that  Jephtha^  the  last  of  the  long  line 
of  Handel  oratorios  (22  in  all),  was  composed.  By  this 
time  the  master's  eyesight  was  seriously  failing.  Three 
painful  operations  ended  in  total  blindness,  and  Handel, 
heartbroken  over  the  misfortune,  began  to  anticipate, 
if  not  to  wish  for,  his  end.  His  powers  gradually 
weakened,  and  his  thoughts  continually  reverted  to 
death.  He  said  he  would  like  to  die  on  Good  Friday, 
that  he  might  meet  his  Lord  and  Saviour  on  the  day 
of  His  crucifixion.  His  desire  was  granted,  for  it  was 
on  the  Good  Friday  of  1759  (April  13)  that  his  spirit 
fled.  He  had  conducted  his  Messiah  seven  days  before, 
and  the  effort  proved  too  much.  His  body  was  laid  in 
the  Abbey,  where  a  monument  may  be  seen,  represent- 
ing him  in  the  act  of  writing  "  I  know  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth,"  one  of  the  best-known  solos  in  his 
great  oratorio.  In  spite  of  his  repeated  losses,  he  died 
a  rich  man.  He  not  only  paid  all  his  debts,  but  left 
;^20,C)00,  of  which  ^1000  was  bequeathed  to  the  Royal 
Society  of  Musicians. 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  29 

In  person  and  character  Handel  was,  like  his  music, 
large  and  powerful.  He  was  somewhat  unwieldy  in  his 
movements,  but  he  had  a  countenance  full  of  fire  and 
dignity.  He  was  imperious  in  the  extreme,  with  a 
temper  at  times  perfectly  volcanic.  In  illustration  of 
this,  one  typical  anecdote  may  be  chosen  from  many. 
Handel's  nerves  were  too  irritable  to  stand  the  sound 
of  tuning,  and  his  players  therefore  tuned  their  instru- 
ments before  he  arrived.  One  evening,  when  the  Prince 
of  Wales  was  expected  to  be  present,  some  wag,  for  a 
piece  of  fun,  untuned  them  all.  When  the  Prince 
arrived,  Handel  gave  the  signal  to  begin  con  spirito^ 
but  such  was  the  horrible  discord  that  the  enrag-ed 
conductor  started  up  from  his  seat,  and,  having  over- 
turned a  double-bass  that  stood  in  the  way,  seized  a 
kettle-drum  and  threw  it  with  such  force  at  the  leader 
of  the  violins  that  he  lost  his  wig  in  the  effort.  Without 
waiting  to  replace  it,  he  strode  bareheaded  to  the  front 
of  the  orchestra,  breathing  vengeance,  but  so  choked 
with  passion  that  he  could  hardly  utter  a  word.  In  this 
ridiculous  attitude  he  stood  staring  and  stamping  for 
some  moments,  amidst  the  general  convulsion  of 
laughter.  Nor  could  he  be  prevailed  upon  to  resume 
his  seat  until  the  Prince  went  in  person  and  succeeded 
in  appeasing  his  wrath. 

Prince  or  plebeian,  it  was  all  the  same  to  Handel. 
If  anybody  talked  during  a  performance,  he  not  only 
swore  but  "  called  names."  For  all  this,  he  was  a  deeply 
religious  man.  When  writing  the  Hallelujah  Chorus 
he  said  :  "  I  did  see  all  heaven  open  before  me  and  the 


30  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

great  God  Himself."  He  knew  his  Bible  so  well  that  for 
several  of  his  oratorios  he  was  his  own  librettist.  At 
the  coronation  of  George  II.,  the  Bishops  chose  the 
words  for  the  anthem  and  sent  them  to  Handel  to  set 
to  music.  "  I  have  read  my  Bible  very  well,  and  shall 
choose  for  myself,"  was  the  reply  he  returned  with  the 
Bishops'  manuscript. 

Many  stories  have  been  told  of  Handel's  almost 
unappeasable  appetite,  some  of  them  certainly  exagger- 
ated. There  is  a  caricature  of  his  time  representing 
him  with  the  head  of  a  hog,  seated  at  the  organ,  while 
the  instrument  is  garnished  with  hams,  sausages,  and 
other  coarse  foods.  The  most  familiar  anecdote  is  that 
which  tells  of  him  going  to  a  tavern  and  ordering  dinner 
for  three.  Having  sat  a  long  time  without  any  signs 
of  the  dinner,  he  called  the  landlord.  The  landlord  said 
he  was  waiting  till  the  company  arrived.  "  Then  bring 
the  dinner  prestissimo  "  replied  Handel,  "  for  I  am  the 
company."  There  is  another  story  of  a  social  evening 
at  his  house  in  Brook  Street,  Hanover  Square.  During 
supper,  Handel  frequently  called  out,  "  Oh !  I  have  a 
thought,"  and  retired  to  another  room  on  pretence  of 
writing  it  down.  At  last  some  suspicious  guest  had  the 
curiosity  to  peep  through  the  keyhole  into  the  adjoin- 
ing apartment.  What  he  discovered  was  that  Handel's 
"  thoughts  "  were  being  bestowed  on  a  fresh  hamper  of 
Burgundy  which  had  been  sent  him  in  a  present  by  one 
of  his  admirers  ! 

There  is  little  need  to  sum  up  Handel  as  a  composer. 
Sir  Hubert  Parry  puts  it  very  well  when  he  says  that 


GEORGE  FREDERICK  HANDEL  31 

his  style  has  suited  the  English  nation  better  than  any- 
other,  owing  to  its  directness  and  vigour  and  robustness; 
and  also,  no  doubt,  because  the  nation  has  always  had 
a  great  love  for  choral  music,  of  which  he  is  one  of 
the  greatest  masters.  Beethoven's  judgment  on  him 
was  perfectly  sound.  "  Handel,"  said  he,  "  is  the 
unapproachable  master  of  all  masters.  Go  to  him 
and  learn  to  produce  great  effects  with  little  means." 
Similarly,  Haydn,  in  reference  to  Handel's  choral  work, 
exclaimed,  "  He  is  the  master  of  us  all ! "  No  composer 
has  ever  understood  so  well  how  to  extract  from  a  body 
of  voices  such  grand  results  by  means  so  simple  and 
yet  so  skilfully  conceived.  In  oratorio  at  least  Handel 
is  the  people's  composer,  and  such  he  must  remain  so 
long  as  oratorio  holds  its  place  with  the  public. 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES 

There  is  only  one  Bach  !  only  one  Bach  ! 

Frederick  the  Great. 

John  Sebastian  Bach  was  Handel's  greatest  con- 
temporary. Curiously  enough,  they  never  met  nor  even 
corresponded,  though  more  than  once  they  just  missed 
meeting.  On  one  occasion  Bach  went  to  Halle,  hearing 
that  Handel  was  there  and  expecting  to  greet  him,  but 
Handel  had  left  for  England  an  hour  or  two  before  his 
brother  composer  arrived.  The  two,  Handel  and  Bach, 
are  often  spoken  of  as_  if  they  were  a  sort  of  Siamese 
twins  of  music.  They  were  both  Germans,  and  they 
were  born  within  a  month  of  each  other.  Both,  again, 
were  fine  organists,  both  gave  great  religious  works  to 
the  world,  and  both  were  stricken  blind  in  their  later 
years.  Beyond  that,  they  had  not  much  in  common. 
Handel,  as  we  have  seen,  enjoyed  a  prominent  place 
as  a  popular  composer,  and  died  rich  after  a  residence 
of  more  than  forty  years  in  London.  Bach,  a  quiet, 
stay-at-home  man,  who  married  twice  and  had  a  family 
of  twenty  sons  and  daughters,  laboured  with  small 
resources  in  the  little  town  of  Leipzig  for  the  last 
twenty-four  years  of  his  life,  and  outside  a  rather  limited 

32 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  33 

public  in  Germany  he  was  hardly  known  at  all.  Never- 
theless, of  all  the  works  of  that  period,  the  ones  which 
have  real  influence  on  art  at  the  present  time  are  those 
of  Bach. 

Handel's  influence  was  felt  almost  solely  in  oratorio 
and  in  England  alone ;  whereas  Bach  had  a  real  and 
lasting  influence  on  all  the  great  composers  who 
followed  him.  All  looked  up  to  him,  and  took,  as  it 
were,  their  cue  from  his  seriousness  and  his  calm  dignity. 
Beethoven  was  enthralled  by  his  stupendous  Mass  in 
B  minor,  the  chief  monument  of  his  genius.  Mozart  by 
chance  heard  some  of  his  compositions  and  came  away 
"  deeply  impressed  and  wondering."  The  first  time  he 
heard  one  of  Bach's  hymns  he  said,  "  Thank  God  !  I 
have  learnt  something  absolutely  new."  Schumann 
exclaimed,  "  Only  from  one  might  all  composers  find 
ever-new  creative  power — from  John  Sebastian  Bach." 
Mendelssohn,  Brahms,  Wagner — all  revered  Bach  as 
their  godfather  in  music.  And  that  position  is  in 
nowise  changed  to-day.  In  spite  of  modern  develop- 
ments, "  old  Bach  "  remains  the  musician  for  musicians, 
just  as  Spenser  remains  the  poet  for  poets.  Still  he 
commands  the  attention  of  the  musical  world,  whether 
in  church,  in  concert-room,  or  in  study.  Of  him,  more 
than  of  any  of  the  other  great  composers,  it  may  be 
said  that  he  is  "  not  for  an  age  but  for  all  time." 

Bach  is  the  best  example  that  we  have  of  the  de- 
gree to  which  music  may  sometimes  be  inherited.  He 
bore  the  name  of  a  Thuringian  family,  in  which  the 
pursuit  of  music  was  uniquely  hereditary  and  carefully 

D 


34  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

nourished  from  childhood.  In  course  of  time  the  family- 
held  practically  all  the  musical  posts  in  Thuringia. 
With  its  numerous  branches,  and  many  members  in 
each  branch,  all  dwelling  in  the  same  province,  they 
spread  in  every  direction,  and  it  was  a  queer  place 
where  one  did  not  find  a  Bach  as  cantor  or  organist 
or  town  musician.  The  whole  family  lived  on  the  most 
affectionate  terms  with  each  other.  They  intermarried 
freely,  and  one  day  in  the  year  was  set  apart  for  a 
grand  Bach  gathering,  after  the  manner  of  the  nobility. 
In  Erfurt,  Eisenach,  Arnstadt,  Gotha,  Muhlhausen, 
Bachs  were  established  as  organists ;  and  still,  at  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  town  pipers  in  Erfurt 
were  called  **  the  Bachs,"  although  not  one  amongst 
them  was  a  Bach !  Not  that  the  musical  Bachs  had 
ceased  to  exist.  It  was  not  until  as  late  as  1846  that 
the  great  line,  the  most  honourable  in  the  history  of 
music,  became  extinct,  when  Wilhelm  F.  E.  Bach  died. 
Even  now  the  name  of  Bach  is  quite  common  in  Ger- 
many. In  1 899  no  fewer  than  thirteen  families  of  Bachs 
were  living  in  Erfurt  alone,  and  there  were  others  else- 
where. 

The  genealogy  of  the  Bachs  has  naturally  given 
some  trouble  to  the  biographers,  but  it  is  now  clearly 
proved  that  the  root  of  the  great  tree  was  a  certain 
Veit  Bach,  a  miller  and  baker,  who,  after  being  chased 
from  Germany  to  Hungary  and  back  again  on  account 
of  his  Protestant  faith,  finally  settled  near  the  German 
frontier.  According  to  our  composer,  "  Veit's  greatest 
pleasure  was  to  play  on  a  guitar  which  he  brought 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  35 

back  with  him  from  his  travels.  This  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  playing  while  the  mill  was  in  motion,  and, 
notwithstanding  the  noise  of  the  mill,  he  kept  strictly 
to  time,  and  this,  I  think,  may  be  looked  upon  as  the 
beginning  of  the  musical  feeling  of  his  descendants." 
About  the  year  1580  there  was  born  to  Veit  a  son, 
Hans,  who  inherited  so  much  of  the  family  gift  that 
he  threw  up  the  mill  and  became  a  musician.  Hans 
married  and  gave  his  name  to  three  more  Bachs — John, 
Christopher,  and  Henry — who  also  took  up  the  pro- 
fession of  music.  Christopher  was  our  composer's  grand- 
father. This  Christopher  had  twin  sons,  who  were  so 
like  each  other  that  even  their  wives  could  not  tell 
them  apart !  Nay,  they  "  were  exceedingly  alike  in 
temperament  as  well,  so  that  when  one  suffered  from 
any  disorder,  the  other  was  almost  sure  to  be  afflicted 
in  the  same  way."  One  of  the  twins,  Johann  Ambrosius, 
became  Court  and  town  musician  at  Eisenach,  and  it 
was  at  Eisenach  that  his  famous  son  was  born,  on  the 
2 1  St  of  March  1685,  just  a  month  after  Handel. 

The  little  Johann  did  not  long  enjoy  the  protec- 
tion of  his  parents,  for  he  was  left  an  orphan  when 
only  ten  years  old.  But  already  he  had  received  in- 
delible musical  impressions  from  hearing  his  father  play 
on  the  violin,  an  instrument  which  he  himself  learnt 
very  early.  When  the  father  died,  Sebastian  was  taken 
under  the  care  of  his  elder  brother,  John  Christopher, 
who  was  organist  at  a  small  village  near  Eisenach.  The 
brother,  a  hard  and  stern  specimen,  gave  the  boy  lessons 
in  music  until  he  began  to  realise  that  the  boy  would 


36  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

soon  outstrip  himself,  and  then,  with  jealousy  most 
contemptible  in  a  brother,  began  to  put  all  the 
obstacles  in  his  way  that  he  could  think  of.  There 
was  one  particular  volume  of  music  in  the  brother's 
collection  that  Sebastian  eagerly  desired  to  get  hold 
of  for  the  purpose  of  study.  But  the  book  was  kept 
under  lock  and  key,  and  it  was  a  long  time  before  he 
could  lay  his  hands  on  it.  Then,  at  night,  whenever 
there  was  sufficient  moonlight  for  the  purpose,  he 
managed  by  degrees  to  copy  out  its  contents.  The 
task  took  him  six  months,  and  when  the  monster  of 
a  brother  discovered  what  he  had  been  up  to  he  at  once 
robbed  the  boy  of  his  precious  copy.  It  was  no  doubt 
to  this  moonlight  labour  that  Bach  partly  owed  the 
blindness  which  came  upon  him  in  later  life. 

The  main  thing  to  be  noted  from  the  incident  is, 
however,  the  zeal  with  which  young  Sebastian  pursued 
his  studies.  That  zeal  may  be  said  to  have  continued 
with  him  to  the  end.  Some  years  later,  when  the  ogre  of 
a  brother  was  dead,  and  when  he  had  begun  to  make  a 
little  money  as  a  choir  boy  (for  he  had  a  lovely  soprano 
voice),  he  saved  every  trifle  in  order  to  get  to  Hamburg 
to  hear  the  great  Reinken,  then  the  leading  organist 
in  the  country.  Sometimes  he  travelled  on  foot.  He 
certainly  did  so  when,  later,  he  was  at  Luneberg,  which 
is  about  thirty  miles  from  Hamburg.  In  his  old  age 
he  was  fond  of  telling  a  curious  story  connected  with 
one  of  these  trips.  He  was  half-way  home  after  a  feast 
of  Reinken  playing,  and  nearly  all  his  money  was  spent. 
He  arrived  at  a  country  inn  where  the  savoury  odour 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  37 

of  cooking  made  him  hungrier  than  he  already  was. 
He  sat  down  by  the  road,  musing  on  his  hard  fate. 
Suddenly  a  window  was  opened  and  two  herring-heads 
were  flung  at  him.    He  picked  them  up  and  found  a 
Danish  ducat  in  each  of  them.    Some  kindly  disposed 
stranger  had  observed  him,  and  guessing  the  cause  of 
his  despondency,  played  this  trick  on  him.    It  enabled 
him  to  get  a  good  dinner,  and  he  resumed  his  way 
rejoicing.     Bach   went,  in   1720,  a  last  time  to  hear 
Reinken,  who  was  still  at  his  post,  though  then  ninety- 
seven.    The  young   man   played  to  the  veteran  for 
two   hours,  and  Reinken  was    so  overcome  that  he 
shed  tears  of  joy  while  he  tenderly  embraced  Bach. 
"  I  did  think,"  he  said,  "  that  this  art  would  die  with 
me,  but  I  see  that  you  will  keep  it  alive."    Here  he 
referred    especially   to   the   young   player's    gifts   of 
extemporisation. 

Bach  was  eighteen  years  old  when  he  received  his 
first  musical  appointment.  It  was  as  a  violinist  in  the 
band  of  the  Duke  of  Weimar.  But  Bach  had  never 
taken  very  kindly  to  the  violin.  The  organ  was  his 
favourite  instrument,  first  and  last,  and  so  we  are  not 
surprised  to  find  him  installed  a  year  later  as  organist 
at  Arnstadt.  Here  he  put  in  a  quiet  life  of  steady 
work  for  two  years,  writing  some  of  his  early  church 
cantatas  for  his  choir,  and  toiling  at  the  organ  like  a 
galley  slave.  He  made  long  excursions  to  hear  famous 
organists,  and  on  one  notable  occasion  he  obtained 
leave  of  absence  for  a  month  that  he  might  go  to 
Liibeck  and  listen  to  Buxtehude,  the  greatest  organist 


38  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  that  part  of  the  country.  Lubeck  was  fifty  miles 
from  Arnstadt,  but  Bach  cheerfully  performed  the 
journey  on  foot.  His  month  of  leave  passed  all  too 
quickly,  and  he  found  himself  so  infatuated  by  Buxte- 
hude's  playing  that  he  resolved  to  extend  his  holiday 
at  the  risk  of  losing  his  place. 

It  was  not,  in  fact,  until  he  had  been  four  months 
away  that  he  took  the  road  for  Arnstadt.  Naturally 
on  his  return  he  was  severely  reprimanded  for  his  be- 
haviour. It  seems  that  the  church  authorities  had  not 
been  entirely  satisfied  with  his  performance  of  the 
duties  before  he  left,  and  this  too  was  now  made  a 
matter  of  complaint.  A  formal  examination  was  held, 
and  the  local  magnates  reported  :  "  We  charge  him 
with  having  hitherto  been  in  the  habit  of  making  sur- 
prising variations  in  the  chorales,  and  intermixing 
divers  strange  sounds,  so  that  thereby  the  congrega- 
tion were  confounded."  Bach,  one  fears,  lost  his 
temper  with  these  would-be  dictators,  for  we  find  that 
his  answers,  eight  months  delayed,  though  short,  were 
not  submissive. 

By  and  by  there  arose  a  fresh  ground  for  com- 
plaint against  the  young  organist.  In  one  of  the  re- 
ports it  is  thus  written  :  "  We  further  remonstrate  with 
him  on  his  having  allowed  the  stranger  maiden  to  show 
herself  and  to  make  music  in  the  choir."  Which  means 
simply  that  Bach,  who  was  described  by  Mattheson 
as  "  a  constant  admirer  of  the  fair  sex,"  had  given  his 
sweetheart  a  place  among  his  singers.  This  was  very 
wrong  of  him.    In  the  older  church  cantatas  women 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  39 

did  not  sing  ;  so  that  Bach  committed  almost  as  great 
an  indiscretion  as  the  organists  of  Westminster  Abbey 
and  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  would  commit  if  they  allowed 
a  woman's  voice  to  be  heard  in  their  choirs. 

Bach's  answer  to  the  Arnstadt  authorities  was  that 
he  had  "  mentioned  the  matter  to  the  parson."  Per- 
haps when  he  spoke  to  the  parson  he  confessed  his 
love  and  his  betrothal.  At  any  rate,  he  was  married  a 
year  later  to  this  "  stranger  maiden,"  who  bore  his  own 
name,  and  was  indeed  a  cousin  from  a  neighbouring 
town.  Cousins,  they  tell  us,  should  not  marry.  But  it 
is  worth  remarking  that  the  most  distinguished  of 
Bach's  sons  were  all  the  children  of  his  first  marriage. 
It  was  the  "  stranger  maiden  "  who  was  the  mother  of 
Wilhelm  Friedemann,  the  father's  favourite,  and  of 
Philipp  Emanuel,  whom  the  musical  world  long  pre- 
ferred to  Sebastian  himself.  There  is  an  amusing 
entry  of  the  composer's  marriage  in  the  parish  register. 
"On  October  17,  1707,"  it  reads,  "the  respectable 
Herr  Johann  Sebastian  Bach,  a  bachelor,  the  surviv- 
ing lawful  son  of  the  late  most  respectable  Herr  Am- 
brosius  Bach,  the  famous  town  organist  and  musician 
of  Eisenach,  was  married  to  the  virtuous  maiden,  Maria 
Barbara  Bach,  the  youngest  surviving  unmarried 
daughter  of  the  late  very  respectable  and  famous  artist, 
Johann  Michael  Bach,  organist  at  Gehren,"  and  so  on. 
Only  in  Germany  have  the  registrars  time  to  cultivate 
such  flowers  of  rhetoric.  Yet  how  we  like  to  read  it 
all  of  Sebastian,  after  these  two  hundred  years  have 
elapsed ! 


40  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

It  was  not  at  Arnstadt  but  at  Miihlhausen  that 
Bach  was  married.  Perhaps  he  found  Arnstadt 
uncomfortable  after  the  above -recorded  incidents. 
Even  now,  Arnstadt  does  not  seem  to  be  sufficiently 
appreciative  of  her  greatest  organist.  Quite  recently 
the  chief  music-seller  there  told  a  well-known  English 
musician  that  Bach's  music  is  out  of  date.  "  No  one 
has  now  any  interest  in  such  old-fashioned  stuff,"  he  said. 
Bach  seems  to  have  had  no  trouble  at  Miihlhausen, 
but  he  stayed  there  only  long  enough  to  set  up  house. 
His  salary  was  about  £j  a  year,  with  certain  et  ceteras^ 
including  "three  pounds  of  fish  a  year."  A  paltry 
inheritance  of  £^  presently  came  to  him.  But  alas ! 
"  modest  as  is  my  way  of  life,"  he  wrote,  "  with  the 
payment  of  house  rent  and  other  indispensable  articles 
of  consumption,  I  can  with  difficulty  live."  Thus,  to 
better  himself,  he  was  soon  on  the  move  again — this 
time  to  Weimar,  as  organist,  of  course. 

We  read  now  of  his  reputation  as  an  executant,  as 
a  composer,  and  as  an  extemporiser  spreading  all  over 
Germany.  There  was  no  need  for  him  making  tiresome 
journeys  to  hear  great  organists  any  more,  for  he  was 
now  among  the  greatest  himself,  and  lesser  men  were 
soon  coming  to  hear  him.  By  and  by  he  removed  to 
Cothen  as  kapellmeister  and  organist  to  the  Prince  of 
Anhalt.  Here  was  produced  what  is  perhaps  the  most 
generally  known  of  all  his  works,  the  collection  bearing 
the  title  of  the  Forty-eight  Preludes  and  Fugues.  Bach 
called  it  The  Well-Tempered  Clavier,  well-tempered 
being  a  synonym  for  well  or  correctly  tuned.    The 


BAG  H 


BACH,  OLD   FATHER  OF  FUGUES  41 

title  requires  some  explanation.  In  olden  times,  when 
fewer  keys  were  used  in  composition  than  now,  It  was 
considered  enough  if  a  key-board  instrument  had  one 
or  two  keys  in  tune.  Keys  with  several  flats  and  sharps 
were  never  in  strict  tune.  In  this  way,  owing  to  a 
curious  scientific  fact,  the  few  keys  could  be  ''  better 
in  tune  and  sound  better  in  some  ways  than  if  all  the 
keys  were  equally  considered."  Gradually,  however, 
composers  desired  to  use  more  keys,  and  it  came  to 
be  a  question  whether  it  were  better  to  endure  some 
keys  which  were  out  of  tune  for  the  sake  of  the  few 
which  were  in  perfect  tune,  or  to  make  all  the  keys  alike. 
Bach  foresaw  clearly  that  the  time  must  come  when 
composers  would  write  in  every  possible  key,  and  so 
he  made  himself  a  beginning  in  this  Well-Tempered 
Clavier.  The  famous  work  has  not  only  been  "  the 
constant  source  of  happiness  and  content  and  comfort 
to  most  of  the  musicians  of  any  standing  in  the  world 
since  the  beginning  of  last  century,  but  it  has  all  the  ele- 
ments of  the  most  lasting  value  imaginable.  In  it  men 
find  almost  all  the  shades  of  feeling  they  can  desire, 
except  such  as  are  tainted  with  coarseness  or  levity. 
The  very  depths  of  pathos  and  sadness  are  sounded  in 
some  numbers,  in  others  there  is  joy  and  lightness,  in 
others  humour  and  merriment,  in  others  the  sublimest 
dignity,  and  in  others  that  serenity  of  beauty  which 
seems  to  lift  man  above  himself,  and  to  make  him  free 
for  the  time  from  the  shadows  and  darker  places  of  his 
nature,  and  all  pieces  alike  are  cast  in  a  form  of  most 
perfect  art,  and  in  that  scale  which  can  be  realised 


42  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

completely  at  home  with  no  more  elaborate  resources 
than  one  little  keyed  instrument."  Every  virtuoso  of 
the  piano  knows  the  value  of  the  matchless  "  Forty- 
eight."  When  Chopin  was  to  give  a  recital,  he  never 
practised  the  pieces  he  was  to  play,  but  shut  himself 
up  for  a  fortnight  and  played  Bach.  "  Let  the  Well- 
Tempered  Clavier  be  thy  daily  bread,"  said  Schumann  ; 
and  better  advice  could  not  be  given.  Whether  for 
technical  practice,  intellectual  enjoyment,  or  spiritual 
nourishment,  the  "  Forty-eight "  are  of  priceless  worth. 
They  are  perfect  little  cameos  of  art,  and  if  Bach  had 
written  nothing  else,  he  would  still  have  endeared  him- 
self to  us. 

But  there  is  more  to  be  said  in  this  connection. 
We  must  never  forget  Bach's  reforms  in  the  matter 
of  key-board  fingering.  Before  his  day  players  hardly 
used  the  thumb  and  fourth  finger  at  all.  Scales  used 
to  be  played  by  turning  the  second  and  third  fingers 
over  one  another,  and  only  now  and  again  would  the 
fourth  finger  be  used,  to  get  over  peculiar  difficulties. 
Bach  changed  all  this,  and  so  we  may,  in  a  sense, 
regard  him  as  the  father  of  modern  piano  playing.  Of 
his  own  style  of  fingering  an  early  biographer  says : 
"  He  played  with  so  easy  and  small  a  motion  of  the 
fingers  that  it  was  hardly  perceptible.  Only  the  first 
joints  of  his  fingers  were  in  motion  ;  his  hand  retained, 
even  in  the  most  difficult  passages,  its  rounded  form  ; 
his  fingers  rose  very  little  from  the  keys,  hardly  more 
than  in  a  shake,  and  when  one  was  employed,  the 
others  remained  still  in  their  positions." 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  43 

At  Cothen  one  of  Bach's  most  serious  domestic 
calamities  befell  him.  He  had  been  from  home,  and 
when  he  returned  to  get,  as  he  expected,  the  glad 
greetings  of  his  wife,  he  found  that  she  was  already 
dead  and  buried.  Bach  was  a  man  of  deep  emotions 
and  few  words,  and  he  suffered  keenly  from  this  bereave- 
ment. But  he  was  essentially  a  family  man,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  he  married  again,  this  time  a  lady 
of  musical  taste  and  accomplishment,  who  helped  him 
appreciably  in  his  professional  work.  She  sang  and 
played  well,  and  she  had,  besides,  a  beautiful  hand  for 
copying  music.  Bach  taught  her  the  harpsichord,  and 
a  good  deal  of  his  music  was  expressly  written  for  her. 
The  new  wife,  who  bore  her  husband  thirteen  children, 
made  the  Bach  home  a  little  musical  paradise.  Seven 
years  after  the  marriage  the  composer  wrote  of  his 
family  :  ''  They  are  one  and  all  born  musicians,  and  I 
assure  you  that  I  can  already  form  a  concert,  both 
vocal  and  instrumental,  of  my  own  family,  particularly 
as  my  wife  sings  a  clear  soprano,  and  my  eldest  daughter 
joins  in  bravely."   A  pretty  picture  that  is,  to  think  of! 

In  course  of  time  Bach  got  tired  of  Cothen,  and  the 
office  of  cantor  to  the  school  of  St.  Thomas  in  Leipzig 
falling  in  his  way,  he  accepted  it,  and  settled  down  to 
what  was  his  last  appointment.  This  was  in  1723.  He 
now  turned  his  attention  chiefly  to  church  music,  and 
produced  those  magnificent  settings  of  the  Passion 
which  have  given  him  a  place  as  a  religious  composer 
beside  Handel  himself.  To  the  end  his  life  went  on  in 
the  same  placid  and  uneventful  way  in  which  his  earlier 


44  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

years  had  been  spent.  True,  his  post  at  St.  Thomas 
did  not  prove  a  bed  of  roses.  It  is  recorded  in  a  Leipzig 
paper  of  1749  that  the  officials  had  then  actually  chosen 
a  successor,  "  when  Kapellmeister  and  Cantor  Herr 
Sebastian  Bach  should  die."  It  was  also  contrived  to 
perform  an  elegy  over  Bach  ere  he  vacated  the  post, 
in  the  shape  of  a  cantata  entitled  *'  The  rich  man  died 
and  was  buried."  There  were  other  annoyances.  But 
Bach  took  them  all  calmly  and  philosophically.  He 
loved  his  own  fireside  and  his  art,  his  friends  and  his 
family  better  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  and  these 
were  his  consolation  amid  all  the  troubles  and  vexa- 
tions of  his  career. 

He  seldom  went  from  home,  and  the  limits  of  his 
journeyings  hardly  exceeded  a  small  portion  of  his 
native  country  at  any  time.  One  of  his  excursions 
deserves  special  mention.  Bach  lived  in  the  time  of 
Frederick  the  Great.  Now  Frederick  was  musical  (he 
played  the  flute),  and  he  had  engaged  Bach's  son, 
Philipp  Emanuel,  as  accompanist.  He  had  heard  much 
of  Bach's  musical  powers,  and  he  took  a  notion  to  have 
a  visit  from  the  great  organist.  So  Bach,  now  an  old 
man  over  sixty,  set  out  on  the  journey.  The  King  was  at 
supper  when  his  arrival  was  announced.  Springing  from 
the  table,  Frederick  broke  up  the  meal  with  the  words  : 
**  Gentlemen,  Bach  is  here ! "  and  took  him,  weary  as 
he  was  with  travel,  through  the  palace.  Bach  played 
upon  the  new  Silbermann  pianos,  of  which  Frederick 
was  very  proud,  and  improvised  upon  a  bit  of  melody 
given  him  by  Frederick  himself.    "  There's  only  one 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  45 

Bach !  only  one  Bach ! "  exclaimed  Frederick,  in  a 
transport  of  delight  And  then  Bach  frankly  told 
Frederick  that  he  preferred  the  organ  to  his  pianos — 
that  the  piano  seemed  fitted  only  for  light  rondos  or 
variations !  It  is  said  that  the  King  sent  Bach  a 
substantial  sum  of  money  after  this  visit,  which  was 
embezzled  before  it  reached  the  composer. 

This  journey  seems  to  have  laid  the  foundation  of 
Bach's  last  illness.  He  was  feeble  before  he  started, 
and  his  return  brought  grave  anxiety  to  his  house- 
hold. He  had  to  undergo  a  dangerous  operation  on 
his  eyes,  too.  For  several  years  before,  his  sight  had 
been  affected,  and  now,  like  Handel,  he  found  that 
the  operation  led  only  to  total  blindness.  It  was  a 
short  struggle  at  the  last.  Bach's  sight  most  unex- 
pectedly returned,  but  he  became  frenzied  with  such 
joy  at  this  that  an  apoplectic  seizure  followed,  and  he 
suddenly  expired  on  the  evening  of  July  28,  1750. 
He  was  laid  to  rest,  with  sincere  and  general  mourn- 
ing, near  the  church  of  St.  John,  in  Leipzig.  A  strange 
fate  has  attended  the  remiains  of  certain  of  the  great 
musicians.  Bach  did  not  escape.  No  record  marked 
the  place  where  he  was  buried,  though  it  was  known 
that  he  had  been  buried  in  an  oak  coffin  and  in  a 
single  grave.  "  One  evening,"  says  Schumann,  "I  went 
to  the  Leipzig  churchyard  to  find  the  grave  of  a  great 
man.  Many  hours  I  searched  around  and  about.  I 
found  no  J.  S.  Bach,  and  when  I  asked  the  sexton 
about  it,  he  shook  his  head  over  the  man's  obscurity 
and  remarked  'there  were  many  Bachs.' "    In   1894, 


46  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

when  the  old  church  was  being  demoHshed  for  re- 
building, somebody  suggested  that  an  effort  should  be 
made  to  recover  Bach's  remains.  The  skeleton  of  an 
elderly  man  was  found,  which,  by  a  process  of  reason- 
ing, was  supposed  to  be  Bach's.  It  was  accordingly 
taken  to  an  anatomical  museum,  "  cleaned  up,"  and 
clothed  with  a  semblance  of  flesh  to  show  how  Bach 
looked  in  life.  One  can  only  hope  that  it  wasn't  Bach's 
skeleton  after  all. 

Bach  left  no  will,  and  his  children,  some  of  whom 
suffered  dire  straits  in  later  years,  seized  his  MSS. 
What  little  money  remained  from  his  miserable  salary 
of  ;^I3  a  year  they  divided  with  the  widow,  the  gentle, 
talented  Anna  Magdalena.  What  were  all  her  brave 
sons  doing  that,  ten  years  later,  when  she  died,  it  should 
be  as  an  inmate  of  the  poorhouse  ?  They  all  went  away 
to  other  towns,  some  of  them  to  considerable  success. 
Mother  and  three  daughters  were  left  to  shift  for  them- 
selves, which  meant  the  selling  of  Bach's  musical  re- 
mains and  an  appeal  to  charity.  It  was  a  disgrace  to 
Leipzig  that  this  should  come  to  pass,  though  it  must 
be  remembered  that  Germany  did  not  then  recognise 
the  ereatness  of  Bach  as  we  do  now.  When  Anna 
Magdalena  died  in  1760,  her  only  mourners  were  a 
daughter  and  some  of  the  public-school  children,  who, 
according  to  custom,  had  to  follow  the  very  poor  to 
the  grave.  In  1801  Bach's  daughter,  Regina,  was  still 
living,  a  ''  good  old  woman,"  who  would  have  starved 
but  for  a  public  subscription,  to  which  Beethoven 
contributed. 


BACH,  OLD  FATHER  OF  FUGUES  47 

Something  of  Bach's  character  as  a  man  will  have 
been  gathered  from  what  has  preceded.  As  a  rule  he 
was  genial  and  kindly,  but  his  temper  would  occasion- 
ally show  itself.  Thus  at  a  rehearsal,  when  the  organist 
had  made  a  very  bad  blunder,  he  flew  into  a  towering 
rage,  tore  his  wig  from  his  head,  and  threw  it  at  the 
offender,  shouting  that  "he  had  better  have  been  a 
cobbler."  He  was  very  modest  about  his  own  abilities 
as  a  player.  When  some  one  applauded  his  wonderful 
dexterity  he  said  :  "  There  is  nothing  wonderful  about 
it ;  you  have  only  to  hit  the  right  notes  at  the  right 
time  and  the  instrument  plays  of  itself."  He  would 
say  to  his  pupils  when  they  complained  of  difficulties  : 
"  You  have  five  as  good  fingers  on  each  hand  as  I  have." 
As  an  organist  he  was  himself  without  rival  in  his  own 
time.  It  was  written  of  him  that  *'  with  his  two  feet  he 
could  perform  on  the  pedals  passages  which  would  be 
enough  to  provoke  many  a  skilled  clavier  player  with 
ten  fingers."  There  is  a  story,  legendary,  no  doubt,  that 
he  would  go  into  churches  disguised  as  a  poor  country 
schoolmaster,  and,  asking  the  organist  to  let  him  play, 
would  improvise  in  such  a  wonderful  manner  that  the 
listeners  exclaimed  :  "  This  must  be  either  Bach  or  the 
devil."  And  yet  this  great  master  of  the  organ  at  no  time 
possessed  an  instrument  really  worthy  of  his  powers. 

Bach  can  never  be  what  is  called  a  "  popular  "  com- 
poser. The  ''popular"  musical  mind  does  not  under- 
stand him  or  appreciate  him.  The  popular  musical 
mind  is  here  in  the  same  case  as  the  lady  who,  at  the 
close   of  a   concert   at    which   John   L.   Hatton,   the 


48  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

composer  of  the  famous  song  "  To  Anthea,"  had  played 
two  of  Bach's  finest  fugues,  described  Hatton  as  "  the 
man  who  came  in  between  the  parts  to  tune  the  piano." 
Sir  Walter  Parratt,  master  of  the  King's  Band,  has  an 
ideal  composer  in  Bach,  but  does  not  get  everybody 
to  agree  with  him.  He  once  asked  a  young  lady  why 
she  had  not  attended  a  certain  performance  of  Bach's 
music.  In  a  moment  of  stupendous  honesty  she  re- 
plied :  "  Because  I  did  not  care  about  it."  Sir  Walter 
gazed  in  sorrowful  silence,  and  then  quietly  said  : 
"  You're  a  little  donkey."  Mendelssohn  had  better 
luck  with  a  pretty  girl  to  whom  he  gave  lessons  at 
Diisseldorf.  He  converted  his  young  pupil  from  Herz 
to  Bach,  and  the  grateful  father,  who  loved  Bach  him- 
self, rewarded  Mendelssohn  with  a  parcel  of  cloth.  "  I 
could  scarcely  believe  it  at  first,  but  the  parcel  really 
contained  enough  of  the  finest  black  cloth  to  make  an 
entire  suit.  This  savours  of  the  Middle  Ages,"  wrote 
Mendelssohn.    These  anecdotes  are  significant. 

But  Bach  has  his  following  even  among  the 
amateurs,  and  the  following  will  be  greater  as  time 
goes  on.  Then  will  be  fully  understood  the  meaning  of 
that  remark  of  Schumann,  that  Bach  was  a  man  to 
whom  music  owes  almost  as  great  a  debt  as  religion 
owes  to  its  founder.  "  To  me,"  said  Goethe,  "  it  is 
with  Bach  as  if  the  eternal  harmonies  discoursed 
with  one  another."  So  it  has  been,  and  so  it  will  be, 
to  multitudes  besides. 


PAPA   AND   MAMMA    HAYDN 

Sound — immortal  Music  sound  ! 
Bid  the  golden  Words  go  round  ! 
Every  heart  and  tongue  proclaim 
Haydn's  power,  and  Haydn's  fame  ! 

Barry  Cornwall. 

So  mucn  for  the  first  pair  of  great  composers.  They 
can  be  followed  chronologically  and  conveniently  by 
another  pair — Haydn  and  Mozart.  Though  Bach  and 
Handel  never  met,  Haydn  and  Mozart  often  did.  They 
had  a  sincere  regard  for  each  other  too.  It  was  Mozart 
who,  recognising  his  brother  composer  as  his  foster- 
father  in  music,  called  him  by  the  fond  title  of  "  Papa 
Haydn,"  which  sticks  to  him  yet.  We  also,  though 
for  other  reasons,  may  well  call  him  "  Papa."  He  was 
the  father  of  most  of  the  instrumental  forms  of  music 
which  are  regarded  as  fixed  forms  to-day — the  sym- 
phony, the  sonata,  the  string  quartet,  and  the  like. 
That  is  to  say,  he  wrote  works  in  these  departments 
which  every  composer  feels  to  be  the  right  sort  of 
models  to  follow  ;  just  as  in  writing  a  novel  one  might 
follow  the  model  of  Scott,  or  Dickens,  or  Thackeray. 
Haydn  came  into  the  world  exactly  at  the  right  time. 
Music,  before  he  began  to  write,  had  descended  to  the 

49  E 


5©  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

dead  level  of  the  commonplace,  for  the  best  days  of 
Bach  and  Handel  were  over,  and  the  other  living  com- 
posers were  but  pigmies  by  comparison.  It  was  Haydn's 
province  to  give  music  a  fresh  direction,  and  to  raise  up 
from  the  old  foundation  a  new  style  at  once  pleasing 
and  ennobling. 

Francis  Joseph  Haydn  began  his  career,  to  use  his 
own  phrase,  as  "  a  poor  devil,"  lived  to  enjoy  a  comfort- 
able competency,  and  died  heavy  alike  with  years  and 
honours.  He  was  born  at  Rohrau,  a  village  on  the 
confines  of  Austria  and  Hungary,  on  the  31st  of  March 
1732.  The  home  was  a  humble  thatched  structure  of 
one  story,  with  a  barn  attached.  Though  rebuilt  (for 
it  had  been  swept  away  by  a  flood),  it  still  stands, 
much  the  same  as  it  did  when  Haydn,  then  a  celebrity, 
returned  to  Rohrau  in  1795,  and  knelt  down  on  its 
threshold  and  kissed  the  ground.  Beethoven  was 
shown  a  picture  of  it  when  lying  on  his  deathbed. 
"  Strange,"  he  said,  "  that  so  great  a  man  should  have 
had  so  lowly  an  origin."  Haydn  was  proud  of  his 
lowly  origin  because  he  had,  as  he  put  it,  "  made  some- 
thing out  of  nothing."  His  people  were  certainly  poor 
enough.  The  father  was  a  wheelwright,  and  the  mother 
had  been  a  nobleman's  cook.  But  both,  luckily,  were 
musical.  The  father  was  village  organist :  "  a  great 
lover  of  music,"  his  famous  son  said,  "  and  played  the 
harp  without  knowing  a  note  of  music." 

By  and  by  the  little  Joseph,  to  give  the  composer 
the  Christian  name  he  usually  bore,  began,  in  his  own 
childish  fashion,  to  assist  in  the  domestic  concerts  by 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  51 

pretending  to  play  the  fiddle  with  two  pieces  of  stick. 
These  "  wooden  "  performances  were  not  thrown  away. 
One  day  a  neighbouring  schoolmaster  named  Frankh 
happened  to  look  in,  and  seeing  the  boy  sawing  bravely 
with  his  sham  fiddle,  offered  to  take  him  into  his  house 
and  educate  him.  The  wheelwright  was  delighted, 
and  the  mother  gave  her  reluctant  consent. 

Frankh  did  fairly  well  by  the  boy,  teaching  him  to 
read  and  write  and  to  play  on  a  real  violin  and  several 
other  instruments  besides.  Storiesare  told  of  his  eettingf 
flogged  when  he  should  have  got  fed.  But  he  was  a 
cheerful  fellow,  and  in  play  hours  he  revenged  himself 
by  transferring  the  master's  blows  to  a  big  drum  on 
which  he  practised  a  lot.  There  is  a  funny  story  told 
in  illustration  of  his  expertness  with  this  same  instru- 
ment. A  drummer  was  wanted  for  a  procession,  and 
Frankh  fixed  on  Haydn.  Haydn  did  not  mind,  but  he 
was  so  small  that  the  drum  had  to  be  carried  before 
him  on  the  back  of  another  boy,  who  happened  to  be  a 
hunchback.  The  effect  must  have  been  comical  enough. 
Haydn  retained  his  early  skill  on  the  drum.  When 
rehearsing  a  concert  during  his  second  visit  to  London, 
the  regular  drummer  was  found  to  be  absent.  ''  Can 
any  one  here  play  the  drum?"  Haydn  asked.  "I 
can,"  promptly  replied  young  George  (afterwards  Sir 
George)  Smart,  who  was  sitting  among  the  violinists. 
But  Smart  somehow  failed  to  satisfy  the  conductor, 
who,  in  fact,  took  the  drumsticks  from  him,  and  after  a 
practical  illustration  remarked,  "  That  is  how  we  use 
the  drumsticks  in  Germany."    •'  Oh,  very  well,"  replied 


52  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

the  unabashed  Smart,  "  if  you  like  it  better  that  way, 
we  can  also  do  it  so  in  London." 

When  Haydn  was  nearly  nine  he  had  a  second  piece 
of  luck.  The  choirmaster  of  St.  Stephen's,  Vienna, 
came  to  see  schoolmaster  Frankh.  The  musical  prodigy 
was  of  course  produced.  He  sang  a  song,  and  when  it 
was  finished  the  pleased  visitor  cried  "  Bravo  ! "  as  he 
flung  a  handful  of  cherries  into  Haydn's  cap.  "  But, 
my  little  man,"  he  asked,  "  how  is  it  you  cannot  do 
the  shake  ? "  for  there  was  a  trill  in  the  song  which 
Haydn  had  ignored.  "  How  can  you  expect  me  to 
shake  when  Herr  Frankh  himself  cannot  shake  ?  "  was 
the  bold  reply.  The  result  of  this  interview  was 
Haydn's  being  carried  away  to  Vienna  as  a  chorister 
in  St.  Stephen's,  where  he  was  to  spend  the  remaining 
years  of  such  formal  study  as  he  ever  passed  through. 

He  tells  us  that  he  "  learnt  singing,  the  clavier,  and 
the  violin  from  good  masters,"  besides  writing  and 
ciphering,  and  a  little  Latin  and  theology.  His  instinct 
for  composition  now  began  to  assert  itself,  and  he 
covered  every  scrap  of  music  paper  he  could  lay  hands 
on.  He  would  write  for  twelve  voices  as  readily  as  for 
two,  innocently  believing  that  "  it  must  be  all  right  if 
the  paper  be  nice  and  full."  His  masters  seem  really 
to  have  paid  little  attention  to  him,  but  he  had  the  art 
of  picking  up  things  quickly,  and  by  dint  of  hard  work 
he  managed  to  get  on.  "  When  my  comrades  were 
playing,"  he  says,  "  I  used  to  take  my  little  clavier 
under  my  arm,  and  go  out  where  I  would  be  undis- 
turbed so  as  to  practise  by  myself." 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  53 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  he  was  un- 
like other  boys  in  the  matter  of  fun  and  mischief.  Thus 
we  find  him  scrambling  about  the  scaffolding  when  some 
additions  were  being  made  to  the  Imperial  Chapel. 
The  Empress  had  caught  the  St.  Stephen's  choristers 
at  this  game  more  than  once,  but  the  boys  paid  no  heed 
to  her  threats  and  prohibitions.  One  day  when  Haydn 
was  balancing  himself  aloft,  far  above  his  schoolfellows, 
the  Empress  saw  him  from  her  windows  and  sent  a 
Court  official  to  "give  that  fair-haired  blockhead  a 
good  thrashing."  Many  years  afterwards,  when  he 
was  bandmaster  to  Prince  Esterhazy,  the  fair -haired 
blockhead  had  an  opportunity  of  thanking  the  Empress 
for  this  mark  of  royal  favour. 

Haydn  got  on  very  well  at  St.  Stephen's  until  his 
voice  began  to  break.  So  far  the  Empress  had  been 
pleased  with  his  singing,  but  now  she  declared  that 
"  young  Haydn  sings  like  a  crow."  As  if  he  could  help 
his  voice  breaking  !  The  opinion  of  the  Empress  was 
law  to  the  choirmaster ;  so  he  began  to  look  for  an 
opportunity  of  getting  rid  of  the  boy.  It  came  soon 
enough,  and  unfortunately  it  was  Haydn  himself  who 
provided  it.  Always  fond  of  practical  joking,  he  one 
day  tried  a  pair  of  new  scissors  on  the  pig-tail  of  a 
fellow  chorister.  The  pig-tail  was  clean  removed,  and 
the  joker  was  condemned  to  be  caned.  In  vain  Haydn 
begged  to  be  ,let  off,  declaring  he  would  rather  leave 
than  submit  to  the  indignity.  The  choirmaster  said 
he  would  have  to  leave  in  any  case,  but  he  must  first 
be  caned.    So  it  was  :  at  the  age  of  sixteen  Haydn 


54  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

was  thrown  out  on  the  world,  with  "  three  wretched 
shirts  and  a  worn-out  coat,"  an  empty  purse,  a  keen 
appetite,  and  practically  no  friends. 

He  got  himself  housed  in  a  miserable  garret  with  an 
acquaintance  named  Spangler,  and  looked  about  for 
any  and  every  means  of  earning  a  living.  "  For  eight 
long  years,"  he  says,  "  I  was  forced  to  knock  about 
wretchedly,  giving  lessons  to  the  young."  He  did  more 
than  that.  He  sang  in  choirs,  played  at  balls  and  wed- 
dings and  baptisms,  made  arrangements  of  musical 
works  for  anybody  who  would  employ  him,  and  even 
took  part  in  street  serenades  by  playing  the  violin. 
Presently  he  gathered  about  him  a  few  pupils,  who 
provided  him  with  at  least  the  bare  necessaries  of  life. 
Every  spare  moment  he  devoted  to  the  study  of  com- 
position. To  his  dingy  attic  he  brought,  one  by  one,  as 
he  could  afford  them,  all  the  known  theoretical  works, 
and  thoroughly  mastered  them  without  help.  Ulti- 
mately he  did  get  some  assistance  when  he  became 
accompanist  to  Niccolo  Porpora,  a  famous  singing- 
master  of  the  time,  whom  Handel,  who  had  some  rivalry 
with  him,  used  to  call  "  Old  Borbora."  It  is  odd  to  read 
of  Haydn  acting  as  a  lackey  to  Porpora  :  blacking  his 
boots  and  trimming  his  wig  and  brushing  his  coat  and 
running  his  errands  and — playing  his  accompaniments. 
But  Haydn  apparently  thought  nothing  of  it.  He 
wanted  to  fit  himself  for  his  profession,  and  he  had  to 
get  his  instruction  as  he  went  along,  at  whatever  cost 
to  his  dignity. 

Luckily  his  pecuniary  affairs  soon  improved  greatly. 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  55 

He  raised  his  terms  for  pupils,  and  was  fortunate 
enough  to  be  appointed  music  director  to  the  Bohemian 
Count  Morzin,  who  kept  an  orchestra  at  his  country- 
house.  His  salary  from  the  Count  amounted  to  about 
;^20,  with  board  and  lodgings.  It  made  in  reality  his 
only  fixed  and  assured  income.  But  he  must  have  a 
wife,  whatever  his  income  !  Up  to  this  time  he  had  not 
seemed  to  be  "  built  for  love."  It  is  told  of  him  that  he 
got  wildly  agitated  when  he  was  accompanying  a  young 
Countess  whose  neckerchief  became  disarranged  for  a 
moment.  But  Haydn  had  several  love  affairs.  For  the 
present  his  fate  was  sealed.  He  had  been  giving  lessons 
to  the  youngest  daughter  of  a  wig-maker  named  Keller. 
As  often  happens  in  similar  circumstances  (Mozart  was 
a  victim),  he  fell  in  love  with  his  pupil,  but  for  some 
unexplained  reason  she  decided  to  wear,  not  a  bride's 
but  a  nun's  veil.  "  Never  mind,"  said  the  wig-maker  to 
Haydn,  "you  shall  have  my  other  daughter."  And 
Haydn  did  have  the  other  daughter,  though  she  was 
three  years  his  senior. 

Her  name  was  Anna  Maria,  and  he  married  her,  in 
November  1760,  not  for  better  but  for  worse.  Frau 
Haydn,  as  some  one  has  described  her,  was  "  a  regular 
Xantippe  ;  heartless,  unsociable,  quarrelsome,  extrava- 
gant, and  bigoted."  Carpani  says  she  was  "  not  pretty 
nor  yet  ugly."  Her  manners,  he  adds,  "  were  immacu- 
late, but  she  had  a  wooden  head,  and  when  she  had 
fixed  on  a  caprice  there  was  no  way  to  change  it."  She 
had  an  excess  of  religious  piety  which  took  forms  that 
greatly  disturbed  her  husband  in  his  work.  For  she  had 


56  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

the  house  always  full  of  priests,  and  gave  them  grand 
dinners  and  suppers  and  luncheons,  to  which  Haydn's 
thrifty  soul  objected.  Haydn  said  she  did  not  care  a 
straw  whether  he  were  an  artist  or  a  shoemaker.  She 
used  his  music  manuscripts  as  curling-papers  and 
underlays  for  the  pastry  ;  and  once  when  he  was  away 
from  home  she  wrote  to  him  that  if  he  should  die  there 
was  not  enough  money  in  the  house  to  bury  him. 
She  even  told  him  when  he  was  in  London  that  she 
had  seen  a  charming  house  which  would  make  her 
"such  a  nice  widow's  residence,"  and  asked  him  to 
send  the  cash  to  buy  it.  Frau  Haydn  saw  out  her 
seventy  years  without  getting  a  taste  of  the  widowhood 
she  longed  for.  Haydn  survived  her  nine  years.  He 
bought  the  house  she  had  coveted,  "and  now,"  he 
wrote  in  1806,  "it  is  I  who  am  living  in  it — as  a 
widower."  That  house  (it  stands  in  a  suburb  of  Vienna) 
has  been  preserved  by  Haydn's  admirers  almost  as  it 
was,  and  has  been  turned  into  a  kind  of  museum  con- 
taining portraits  and  mementos  of  the  master,  the 
original  manuscript  of  the  Creation,  and  other  inter- 
esting relics.  What  would  Frau  Haydn  have  thought 
if  she  could  have  foreseen  all  this  ? 

For  a  long  time  Haydn  tried  making  the  best  of  it 
with  her ;  but  there  came  a  day  when  he  realised  that 
to  live  entirely  apart  was  the  only  solution  of  the 
problem.  He  made  his  wife  a  sufficient  allowance,  and 
he  had  the  approval  of  his  own  conscience,  which  is 
all  a  man  need  think  about.  His  was  a  childless  union, 
and  that  no  doubt  embittered  the  situation.    After  the 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  57 

separation  he  fell  in  love  with  a  married  woman,  an 
Italian  singer  named  Polzelli,  aged  nineteen.  She  was 
not  happy  with  her  husband,  and  he  had  found  his 
wife  impossible ;  and  they  confided  their  sorrows  to 
each  other,  and  solaced  themselves  with  flirtation. 
Haydn  wrote  to  Polzelli  that  "  if  only  four  eyes  were 
closed "  they  would  get  married.  But  the  four  eyes 
were  long  in  closing,  and  by  that  time  Haydn  was 
disillusioned  and  too  old  to  marry. 

The  composer's  engagement  with  Count  Morzin 
soon  came  to  an  end,  but  he  was  almost  immediately 
secured  as  musical  director  to  the  Esterhazy  family, 
in  whose  service  he  remained  for  thirty  years.  Great 
families  kept  a  band  of  their  own  in  those  days,  and 
the  Esterhazys  were  able  by  their  wealth  and  vast 
possessions  to  maintain  a  sort  of  regal  magnificence. 
The  Esterhazy  whom  Haydn  was  engaged  to  serve 
was  a  man  of  extravagant  tastes,  who  went  about  in  a 
diamond-embroidered  coat.  He  had  an  opera-house 
and  a  concert-room  attached  to  his  palace,  and  he 
gathered  about  him  a  large  company  of  first-class  per- 
formers, over  whom  Haydn  was  now  set  in  command. 
To  some  natures  the  post  would  have  proved  tedious 
and  irksome.  But  Haydn  was  a  man  of  philosophic 
contentment,  inclined  to  look  rather  at  the  advantages 
than  the  disadvantages  of  his  situation.  *'  As  con- 
ductor of  the  orchestra,"  he  says,  "  I  could  make 
experiments  and  observe  effects,  and  was  thus  in  a 
position  to  improve,  alter,  add,  or  omit  as  I  pleased. 
It  is  true  that  I  was  cut  off  from  the  world,  but  I  was 


58  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

safe  from  intrusion,  and  thus  was  I  forced  to  become 
original." 

At  any  rate,  there  was  ahvays  plenty  for  the  band- 
master to  do.  Royalties,  nobles,  and  aristocrats  were 
constantly  at  Esterhaz,  and  the  band  was  daily  in 
request.  The  Prince  was  very  proud  of  his  musical 
establishment,  and  would  have  it  regarded  as  the  best 
of  its  kind  in  Europe.  This  meant  for  Haydn  un- 
tiring rehearsal  and  drilling,  besides  arranging  works 
and  writing  original  compositions.  During  his  tenure 
of  office  he  composed  a  large  number  of  symphonies, 
operas,  masses,  concertos,  trios,  quartets,  and  other 
vocal  and  instrumental  works.  Gradually  his  music 
got  to  be  known  far  and  wide,  and  publishers  were 
ready  to  bring  out  his  compositions  almost  as  fast  as 
he  could  put  them  on  paper.  Invitations  came  to  him 
to  visit  Paris  and  London,  but  for  a  long  time  he 
would  not  be  drawn  from  his  seclusion. 

At  last,  in  1790,  a  violinist  named  Salomon  made 
him  promise  to  visit  London.  "  My  name  is  Salomon," 
he  bluntly  announced,  as  he  was  shown  into  Haydn's 
room  one  morning.  "  I  have  come  from  London  to 
fetch  you.  We  will  settle  terms  to-morrow."  Three 
years  before -this,  a  London  music  publisher  named 
Bland  had  gone  over  to  Vienna  to  try  and  coax  him. 
When  he  called,  Bland  found  him  shaving,  and  com- 
plaining loudly  of  the  bluntness  of  his  razor.  "  I  would 
give  my  best  quartet  for  a  good  razor,"  he  exclaimed 
impatiently.  Bland  took  the  hint  and  hurried  off  to 
fetch  a  better  tool.    Haydn  was  as  good  as  his  word. 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  59 

He  presented  Bland  with  his  latest  quartet,  which  is 
still  commonly  known  as  the  Razor  Quartet. 

Well,  Salomon  succeeded  where  Bland  had  failed  : 
Haydn  agreed  to  go  to  London.  The  arrangement 
was  that  he  should  have  ;^300  for  six  symphonies  and 
£200  for  their  copyright ;  £2QX>  for  twenty  new  com- 
positions to  be  produced  by  himself  at  the  same 
number  of  concerts  ;  and  ;^200  from  a  benefit  concert. 
This  was  tempting,  yet  Haydn  was  not  quite  happy 
about  going.  A  long  journey  was  not  to  be  lightly 
undertaken  in  those  pre-railway  days,  and  Haydn  was 
nearly  threescore.  Moreover,  he  felt  parting  with  his 
friends,  especially  with  Mozart,  "  a  man  very  dear  to 
me,"  as  he  said.  It  was  a  beautiful  thing,  this  regard 
of  the  two  greatest  composers  of  their  time  for  each 
other.  Haydn  called  Mozart  "  the  most  comprehensive, 
original,  extraordinary  musical  genius  ever  known  in 
this  or  any  age  or  nation."  Once  he  wrote  :  "  I  only 
wish  I  could  impress  upon  every  friend  of  mine,  and 
on  great  men  in  particular,  the  same  deep  musical 
sympathy  and  profound  appreciation  which  I  myself 
feel  for  Mozart's  inimitable  music  ;  then  nations  would 
vie  with  each  other  to  possess  such  a  jewel  within  their 
frontiers.  .  .  .  Forgive  my  excitement !  I  love  the  man 
so  dearly."  And  Mozart  loved  him.  A  new  string 
quartet  of  Haydn's  was  being  rehearsed,  when  Kozeluch, 
a  popular  composer  who  was  jealous  of  Haydn,  leaned 
forward  to  Mozart  at  a  certain  bold  passage  and 
whispered  :  "  I  would  not  have  done  that."  "  Nor  I," 
promptly  rejoined  Mozart ;  "  and  do  you  know  why  ? 


6o  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Because  neither  you  nor  I  would  have  had  such  an 
idea."  And  now,  when  Mozart  thought  of  parting  with 
Haydn,  he  was  sadly  concerned.  "  Oh  Papa,"  he  said, 
"  you  have  had  no  education  for  the  wide,  wide  world, 
and  you  speak  too  few  languages."  When  it  came  to 
the  actual  farewell,  the  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes,  and 
he  said  affectingly  :  "  This  is  good-bye  ;  we  shall  never 
meet  again."  The  words  proved  true.  A  year  later 
Mozart  was  lying  in  a  pauper's  grave.  Haydn  was  in- 
consolable at  the  loss.  When  he  started  for  home  at 
the  end  of  his  London  visit,  his  saddest  reflection  was 
that  there  would  be  no  Mozart  to  meet  him.  His 
shrewish  wife  had  tried  to  poison  his  mind  against  his 
friend  by  writing  that  Mozart  had  been  disparaging 
his  genius.  "  I  cannot  believe  it,"  he  cried ;  "  if  it  is 
true,  I  will  forgive  him."  As  late  as  1807,  he  burst  into 
tears  when  Mozart's  name  was  mentioned,  and  then, 
recovering  himself,  remarked  :  ''  Pardon  me !  I  must 
ever  weep  at  the  name  of  my  Mozart." 

Haydn  did  not  like  London  so  well  as  Handel 
and  Mendelssohn  did.  His  landlord  charged  him  too 
much.  Everything  was  "  terribly  dear."  The  fogs 
gave  him  rheumatism  and  made  him  wrap  up  in  flannel 
from  head  to  foot.  The  street  noises  worried  him ; 
and  so  on.  But  London  made  up  for  all  this  by  its 
flattering  reception  of  the  visitor.  He  received  so  many 
invitations  that  he  wrote  home  :  "  I  could  dine  out 
every  day."  Poets  praised  him  in  doubtful  verse ; 
musical  societies  of  all  kinds  made  him  their  guest. 
He  was  introduced  to  no  end  of  notabilities.    One  was 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  6i 

Herschel,  the  great  astronomer,  who  had  been  a  poor 
musician  before  a  lucky  marriage  put  him  in  the  way 
of  fame.  "His  landlady  was  a  widow,"  Haydn  tells. 
"  She  fell  in  love  with  him,  married  him,  and  gave  him 
a  dowry  of  ;^ioo,ocx)."  Haydn  was  surprised  at  the  idea 
of  a  man  sitting  out  of  doors  to  study  the  stars  "  in 
the  most  intense  cold  for  five  or  six  hours  at  a  time." 
More  interesting  to  him  was  Mrs.  Billington.  There 
is  no  more  familiar  anecdote  than  that  which  connects 
Haydn  with  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  portrait  of  this 
distinguished  vocalist.  Haydn  one  day  found  Mrs. 
Billington  sitting  to  Reynolds,  who  was  painting  her 
as  St.  Cecilia  listening  to  the  angels.  "  It  is  like,"  said 
Haydn,  "  but  there  is  a  strange  mistake.  You  have 
painted  her  listening  to  the  angels,  whereas  you  ought 
to  have  represented  the  angels  as  listening  to  her." 
Could  compliment  be  more  charming  ?  At  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral  the  visitor  heard  4000  Charity  Children  sing, 
and  was  "  more  touched  by  this  innocent  and  reverent 
music  than  by  any  I  ever  heard  in  my  life."  He  went 
to  Oxford  to  be  made  a  Doctor  of  music,  and  grumbled 
at  having  to  walk  about  for  three  days  in  his  gorgeous 
robe  of  cherry  and  cream  coloured  silk.  These  excite- 
ments contrasted  strangely  with  the  quiet  drowsy  life 
of  Esterhaz ;  and  although  Haydn  evidently  felt 
flattered,  he  often  expressed  a  wish  to  escape  from  so 
much  attention  in  order  to  get  peace  for  work. 

His  concerts  were  a  great  success,  though  he  was 
not  altogether  pleased  with  his  audiences.  Fresh  from 
the  dinner-table,  they  sometimes  fell  asleep  during  the 


62  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

slow  movements  of  his  symphonies,  and  naturally  he 
did  not  like  it.  He  had  a  keen  sense  of  humour,  and 
he  thought  of  a  little  joke,  which  resulted  in  the  well- 
known  Surprise  symphony.  The  slow  movement  of 
this  symphony  opens  and  proceeds  in  the  most  sub- 
dued manner,  and  just  at  the  moment  when  the  audi- 
ence may  be  imagined  to  have  comfortably  settled  for 
their  nap,  a  sudden  crashing /i^rZ/jj/wd?  chord  is  intro- 
duced. "  There  all  the  women  will  scream,"  chuckled 
Haydn.  It  certainly  gave  them  a  "  surprise  !  "  If 
Haydn's  audiences  occasionally  fell  asleep,  they  at  least 
paid  their  money  ;  and,  on  the  whole,  he  was  perfectly 
satisfied.  After  his  benefit  concert,  on  May  i6,  1791, 
he  made  the  following  graceful  acknowledgment  in  the 
Morning  Chronicle  :  ''Mr.  Haydn,  extremely  flattered 
with  his  reception  in  a  country  which  he  had  long  been 
ambitious  of  visiting,  and  penetrated  with  the  patronage 
with  which  he  has  been  honoured  by  its  animated  and 
generous  inhabitants,  should  think  himself  guilty  of 
the  greatest  ingratitude  if  he  did  not  take  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  making  his  most  grateful  acknowledg- 
ments to  the  English  Public  in  general,  as  well  as 
to  his  particular  friends,  for  the  zeal  which  they  have 
manifested  at  his  concert,  which  has  been  supported 
by  such  distinguished  marks  of  favour  and  approbation 
as  will  be  remembered  by  him  with  infinite  delight  as 
long  as  he  lives." 

Thus  ended  the  composer's  first  visit  to  London. 
He  came  again  in  1794,  when  a  series  of  pre-arranged 
concerts  brought  him  something  like  ;^2000,  which 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  63 

made  him  comfortable  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  During 
this  visit  the  Prince  of  Wales,  afterwards  George  IV., 
"  commanded "  his  attendance  at  Carlton  House  no 
fewer  than  twenty-six  times.  At  one  concert  George 
III.  and  Queen  Caroline  attended,  and  Haydn  was 
presented  to  the  King.  "  You  have  written  a  great 
deal,  Dr.  Haydn,"  said  George.  "  Yes,  sire,  more  than 
is  good  for  me,"  was  the  reply.  "  Certainly  not  ! " 
rejoined  his  Majesty.  He  was  then  presented  to  the 
Queen,  and  asked  to  sing  some  German  songs.  "  My 
voice,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  tip  of  his  little  finger, 
"  is  now  no  bigger  than  that " ;  but  he  sat  down  to 
the  piano  and  sang  one  of  his  own  songs.  He  was  re- 
peatedly invited  by  the  Queen  to  Buckingham  Palace, 
and  she  tried  to  persuade  him  to  settle  in  England. 
"  You  shall  have  a  house  at  Windsor  during  the 
summer  months,"  she  said  ;  and  then,  looking  towards 
the  King,  she  added  :  *' We  can  sometimes  make  music 
tete-a-tete^  "  Oh,  I  am  not  jealous  of  Haydn,"  inter- 
posed the  King ;  "  he  is  a  good,  honourable  German." 
These  pleasantries  were  all  very  well,  but  Haydn  was 
not  inclined  to  give  his  professional  services  even  to 
royalty  for  nothing.  He  sent  in  a  bill  for  a  hundred 
guineas  for  his  appearances  at  Carlton  House  and 
Buckingham  Palace,  and  Parliament  thought  it  ex- 
pedient to  pay  the  bill  and  say  nothing.  Among  the 
other  favours  bestowed  upon  him  during  this  visit, 
mention  should  be  made  of  the  present  of  a  fine  talk- 
ing parrot,  which  was  sold  for  £\dfO  after  his  death. 
When  he  went  back  to  Vienna  this  time,  in  1795, 


64  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

it  was  practically  to  retire  from  professional  and  public 
life.  He  had  made  money,  and  he  could  rest  on  his 
laurels.  Yet  it  was  after  this,  when  he  was  sixty-six 
years  old,  that  he  composed  the  tuneful  and  brilliant 
oratorio  of  the  Creation^  a  work  which,  perhaps,  more 
than  any  other,  has  kept  his  name  before  the  musical 
masses.  It  seems  to  have  been  directly  prompted  by 
the  hearing  of  Handel's  oratorios  in  London.  He  had 
attended  the  Handel  Commemoration  in  Westminster 
Abbey  in  1791,  and  was  much  impressed  with  the 
grandeur  of  the  performances.  When  the  Hallelujah 
Chorus  was  sung  he  wept  like  a  child.  "  Handel  is 
the  master  of  us  all,"  he  said.  "  Never  was  I  so  pious," 
he  afterwards  wrote,  "  as  when  I  was  composing  the 
Creation.  I  knelt  down  every  day  and  prayed  God  to 
strengthen  me  for  my  work."  The  new  oratorio  made 
an  extraordinary  effect  when  first  performed  in  1798. 
The  whole  audience  was  deeply  moved,  and  Haydn 
confessed  that  he  could  not  describe  his  own  sensa- 
tions. "  One  moment,"  he  said,  "  I  was  as  cold  as  ice, 
the  next  I  seemed  on  fire.  More  than  once  I  was 
afraid  I  should  have  a  stroke."  It  is  recorded  that 
Beethoven,  alluding  to  the  oratorio,  once  remarked  to 
Haydn  :  "  Oh  !  dear  master,  it  is  far  from  being  a 
creation,^'   But  the  story  is  very  likely  an  invention. 

The  success  of  the  Creation  led  Haydn  to  try  an- 
other work  somewhat  on  the  same  lines,  and  the  result 
was  the  Seasons^  a  setting  of  Thomson's  poem,  which 
has  been  performed  by  our  choral  societies  times  with- 
out number.    It  shows  no  trace  of  the  "  failing  power  " 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  65 

of  which  Haydn  had  now  begun  to  complain.  But  the 
strain  of  its  composition  proved  too  much  for  him. 
Indeed  he  always  said  himself  that  the  Seasons  gave 
him  the  finishing  stroke.  His  last  years  were  a  con- 
stant struggle  with  the  infirmities  of  age ;  and  when 
his  presence  was  specially  desired  at  a  performance  of 
the  Creation  in  1808,  he  had  to  be  carried  in  an  arm- 
chair to  his  place  in  the  concert  hall.  At  the  words 
"And  there  was  light"  he  was  completely  overcome, 
and  pointing  upwards  exclaimed,  "  It  came  from 
thence."  He  became  more  and  more  agitated  as  the 
performance  went  on,  and  at  last  had  to  be  carried  out. 
People  of  the  highest  rank  crowded  around  to  take 
leave  of  him,  and  Beethoven  fervently  stooped  and 
kissed  his  forehead,  a  pretty  act  of  homage,  in  view  of 
certain  circumstances  of  which  we  shall  learn  later. 

In  the  following  year  Vienna  was  occupied  by  the 
French,  thanks  to  Napoleon's  rampage,  and  one  day 
while  the  city  was  being  bombarded  a  round-shot  fell 
into  Haydn's  garden.  At  the  same  time  Beethoven 
was  buried  away  in  a  cellar,  his  ears  stuffed  with 
cotton -wool,  for  he  feared  that  the  booming  of  the 
cannon  might  make  his  deafness  worse.  The  French 
domination  was  a  grief  to  the  patriot  Haydn,  but  he 
had  no  personal  fear.  Art  is  independent  of  nationality. 
Haydn's  music  was  well  known  and  appreciated  in 
France,  and  the  conquerors  paid  every  possible  respect 
to  the  dying  composer.  The  pleasing  story  of  the 
French  officer  visiting  him  and  singing  "  In  native 
worth"  at   his   bedside  is  familiar.    On   the  26th  of 

F 


66  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

May  he  called  his  household  around  him  for  the  last 
time,  and  having  been  carried  to  the  piano,  played  his 
own  Austrian  Hymn  three  times  over  in  the  midst  of 
the  weeping  listeners.  Five  days  afterwards,  on  the  3  ist 
of  May  1809,  Francis  Joseph  Haydn  passed  to  his  rest. 
Not  long  before,  he  had  said  regretfully  :  "  I  have  only 
just  learnt  how  to  use  the  wind  instruments,  and  now 
that  I  do  understand  them,  I  must  leave  the  world." 

They  buried  him  in  a  churchyard  not  far  from  his 
house,  and  the  grave  remained  unmarked  for  five  years, 
when  one  of  Haydn's  pupils  raised  a  handsome  stone 
over  it.  Then,  in  1820,  Prince  Esterhazy  ordered  the 
exhumation  of  the  remains  for  re-interment  near  the 
scene  of  Haydn's  long  labours  at  Esterhaz.  When  the 
coffin  was  opened,  the  startling  discovery  was  made  that 
the  skull  was  missing.  Inquiries  were  instituted,  and 
it  was  proved  that  the  desecration  had  taken  place  two 
days  after  the  funeral.  A  wretched  "  student  of  phren- 
ology "  named  Peter  had  conceived  the  idea  of  making 
a  collection  of  skulls  for  study.  He  bribed  the  sexton 
and  got  Haydn's  skull.  When  he  was  done  with  it  he 
passed  it  to  another  person,  who  buried  it  in  his  back- 
garden.  Then,  when  he  was  dying,  he  ordered  it  to  be 
restored  to  Peter,  who  in  turn  bequeathed  it  to  a  Dr. 
Haller,  from  whose  keeping  it  subsequently  found  its 
way  to  the  Anatomical  Museum  at  Vienna,  where  it 
still  is,  and  where  in  fact  it  formed  the  subject  of  a 
lecture  in  the  spring  of  1909.  Its  proper  place  is,  of 
course,  in  Haydn's  grave. 

There  have  been  too  many  desecrations  of  this  kind. 


PAPA  AND  MAMMA  HAYDN  67 

We  have  already  heard  aboutthe  alleged  Bach  skeleton. 
When  Beethoven's  grave  was  opened  in  1863,  a  medical 
man  was  actually  allowed  to  cut  away  the  ear  passages 
of  the  corpse  to  investigate  the  cause  of  the  composer's 
deafness,  while  some  ghoulish  person  bolted  with  two  of 
the  teeth.  Donizetti's  skull  was  stolen  before  the  funeral, 
and  was  afterwards  sold  to  a  pork-butcher,  who  used  it 
as  a  money-bowl !  Fortunately  in  these  later  days  we 
are  more  reverential  in  regard  to  memorials  of  the 
great  dead. 

Haydn's  figure  does  not  seem  to  have  been  prepos- 
sessing. His  complexion  was  so  dark  that  one  called 
him  a  Moor  and  another  a  nigger.  He  was  unusually 
pitted  with  smallpox,  a  universal  disfigurement  in  those 
pre-vaccination  times.  His  legs  were  short,  and  he  had 
a  long  beaked  nose,  with  nostrils  of  different  shape.  But 
who  does  not  know  Papa  Haydn  by  his  portraits? 
From  these  we  can  almost  read  his  character.  That 
face  is,  as  Mr.  Haweis  says,  notable  quite  as  much  for 
what  it  does  not  as  for  what  it  does  express.  No  soar- 
ing ambition,  no  avarice,  no  impatience,  very  little 
excitability,  no  malice.  On  the  other  hand,  it  indicates 
a  flow  of  even  health,  an  exceeding  good-humour,  com- 
bined with  a  vivacity  which  seems  to  say :  "  I  must 
lose  my  temper  sometimes,  but  I  cannot  lose  it  for 
long";  a  geniality  which  it  took  much  todisturb, a  diges- 
tion which  it  took  more  to  impair ;  a  power  of  work 
steady  and  uninterrupted ;  a  healthy,  devotional  feeling 
(he  was  a  devout  Catholic) ;  a  strong  sense  of  humour  ; 
a  capacity  for  enjoying  all  the  world's  good  things, 


68  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

without  any  morbid  craving  for  irregular  indulgence ; 
affections  warm  but  intense  ;  a  presence  accepted  and 
beloved  ;  a  mind  contented  almost  anywhere,  attaching 
supreme  importance  to  one  thing,  and  one  thing  only 
— the  composing  of  music,  and  pursuing  this  object 
with  the  steady  instinct  of  one  who  believed  himself  to 
have  been  sent  into  the  world  for  that  purpose  alone. 
Such  was  Francis  Joseph  Haydn. 

He  told  Carpani  that  at  the  thought  of  God  his 
heart  leaped  for  joy,  and  that  he  could  not  help  his 
music,  even  his  church  music,  doing  the  same.  "  I 
know,"  he  said,  "  that  God  has  bestowed  a  talent  upon 
me,  and  I  thank  Him  for  it.  I  think  I  have  done  my 
duty  and  been  of  use  in  my  generation  ;  let  others  do 
the  same."  He  was  fond  of  dress,  always  liked  to  com- 
pose in  his  best  clothes,  and  if  he  meant  to  do  anything 
particularly  well,  he  put  on  a  ring  which  had  been  pre- 
sented to  him  by  the  King  of  Prussia.  An  entirely 
lovable  man  ;  and  his  music,  though  some  superior 
persons  would  fain  call  it  old-fashioned,  is  just  as 
lovable. 


MOZART!    IMMORTAL   MOZART! 

When  I  was  very  young,  I  used  to  say  "  I "  ;  later  on,  I  said 
"  I  and  Mozart "  ;  then  "  Mozart  and  I."  Now  I  say  "  Mozart." 
— Gounod. 

It  is  now  more  than  a  hundred  years  since  Mozart, 
once  the  pet  of  all  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe,  once 
the  idol  of  the  common  people,  expired,  penniless,  and 
almost  neglected,  and  was  laid  to  rest  in  a  nameless 
grave,  not  one  soul  whom  he  had  known  in  life  standing 
by  to  see  the  coffin  lowered.    The  records  of  musical 
history  tell  of  no  deathbed  scene  which  leaves  so  deep 
an  impression  as  that  of  Mozart.    He  had  been  com- 
missioned to  compose  a  Requiem  and  it  was  still  un- 
completed.    His  last  afternoon  on  earth  had  come. 
Supported  by  pillows,  though  already  exhausted  by 
fits  of  coughing,  he  made  painful  efforts  to  join  his 
pupil  Sussmayer  and  one  or  two  other  acquaintances 
in  singing  the  chorus  parts  of  the  unfinished  work.    The 
most  vivid  imagination  cannot  picture  a  more  distress- 
ing scene  than  the  dying  man,  unable  to  speak,  extend- 
ing his  cheeks  to  indicate  to  Sussmayer  the  places  at 
which  the  wind  instruments  should  be  employed.    The 
evening  wore  on  slowly  enough  for  the  sad,  wearied 

69 


70  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

watchers,  and  as  midnight  drew  near  the  dying  com- 
poser with  difficulty  raised  himself  from  his  bed,  opened 
his  eyes  wide,  and  then,  turning  his  face  to  the  wall, 
seemed  to  fall  asleep.  It  was  the  last  sleep :  an  hour 
later  and  the  perturbed  spirit  was  at  rest  for  ever. 

The  body  lay  for  the  usual  time,  and  as  the  days  of 
the  old  year  were  slowly  dying,  Mozart  took  his  last 
long  journey.  A  poor,  scanty,  straggling  procession  is 
observed  wending  its  way  from  the  house  to  the  Cathe- 
dral, where  a  short  service  is  to  be  held  prior  to  the 
interment  in  the  burial-ground  of  St.  Mark,  then  lying 
in  the  suburbs  of  Vienna,  but  now  a  veritable  oasis  in 
the  desert  of  the  enlarged  city.  As  the  coffin  emerges 
from  the  Cathedral  in  the  pouring  rain,  some  who  have 
been  at  the  service  disappear  round  the  angles  of  the 
building,  and  are  seen  no  more.  Others  shelter  them- 
selves as  best  they  can,  and  trudge  with  the  remains 
along  the  muddy  streets.  But  even  these  cannot  hold 
out  to  the  end.  *'  They  all  forsook  him  and  fled."  And 
so,  unattended  except  by  hirelings,  the  body  was  borne 
away  into  the  dismal  country,  there  to  be  laid  with 
paupers  in  a  common  grave,  the  exact  site  of  which  no 
one  was  to  know  in  the  course  of  a  few  years.  In  1809 
some  admirers  wished  to  visit  the  grave,  but  they  were 
told  that  the  ashes  of  the  poor  were  often  exhumed  to 
make  room  for  others,  and  Mozart  was  as  unknown  at 
the  cemetery  as  the  other  fifteen  friendless  unfortunates 
who  had  been  buried  the  same  week.  To-day,  in  that 
great  necropolis,  the  monument  to  Mozart  stands  over 
an  empty  grave. 


MOZART!  IMMORTAL  MOZART!  71 

Let  us  see  what  manner  of  life  was  lived  by  this 
immortal  master  of  music,  who  laid  it  down  under  cir- 
cumstances so  painful  before  he  was  thirty-five.  If  he 
had  not  a  long  life,  he  had  a  long  name,  for  they 
christened  him  John  Chrysostom  Wolfgang  Theophilus 
Mozart.  The  Theophilus  was  early  dropped  for  the 
more  euphonious  name  of  Amadeus,  and  more  lately 
the  John  Chrysostom  was,  in  common  usage,  cut  away 
entirely.  Leopold  Mozart,  the  father,  was  himself  a 
professional  musician:  an  excellent  violinist  and  organ- 
ist, and  Court  composer  to  the  Archbishop  of  Salzburg. 
He  is  pictured  with  his  "old  threadbare  coat  and  oaken 
stick,  a  God-fearing,  sensible,  but  somewhat  narrow- 
minded  man."  He  and  his  wife,  the  very  model  of  a 
thrifty  hausfrau,  are  said  to  have  been  the  handsomest 
couple  in  that  beautiful  old  town  of  Salzburg. 

It  was  at  Salzburg,  in  a  very  unpretentious  dwelling, 
that  Mozart  was  born,  on  the  27th  of  January  1756. 
The  parents  had  seven  children,  but  they  all  died  in 
infancy  except  Wolfgang  and  Anna  Maria,  familiarly 
called  Nannerl,  who  was  to  share  some  of  her  brother's 
triumphs  as  a  musical  prodigy.  Wolfgang's  talent  dis- 
covered itself  at  the  early  age  of  three,  when  he  would 
fix  his  attention  on  the  harpsichord  lessons  being  given 
to  the  seven-year  old  Nannerl.  Even  then,  he  would 
puzzle  out  little  tunes  on  the  instrument.  Papa  was, 
of  course,  overjoyed,  and  soon  he  had  Wolfgang  shar- 
ing Nannerl's  lessons.  He  made  special  arrangements 
of  little  pieces  for  him,  and  wrote  them  out  in  a  book. 
The  book  remains  to  this  day,  with  the  proud  father's 


72  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

notes  about  his  prodigy's  progress.  Thus  :  **  Wolfgang 
learnt  this  minuet  when  he  was  foun"  "  This  minuet 
and  trio  were  learnt  by  Wolfgang  in  half-an-hour,  at 
half-past  nine  at  night,  on  January  26,  1 761,  one  day 
before  his  fifth  year."   And  so  on. 

The  boy  must  try  his  hand  at  composition,  too.  He 
wrote  a  concerto,  and  when  he  was  told  it  was  good 
but  too  difficult,  he  said  :  "  Well,  it  must  be  practised 
till  it  is  mastered,"  and  then  he  showed  the  elders  the 
way  it  should  be  played.  Many  years  later,  a  young 
man  asked  Mozart  to  tell  him  how  to  compose.  The 
gentle  Wolfgang  replied  that  the  questioner  was  too 
young  to  be  thinking  of  such  a  serious  occupation. 
"  But  you  were  much  younger  when  you  began,"  pro- 
tested the  aspirant.  ''  Ah,  yes,  that  is  true,"  Mozart 
said,  with  a  smile ;  "  but  then,  you  see,  I  did  not  ask 
anybody  how  to  compose."  No !  What  was  the  use 
of  lessons  to  a  boy  who  would  improvise  fugues  and 
then  ride-a-cock-horse  on  his  father's  walking-stick  ? 
■  Well,  these  wonder-children  created  such  a  sensation 
in  local  circles  that  Papa  Mozart  began  to  think  he 
might  make  some  money  out  of  them.  So,  when  Wolf- 
gang was  only  six,  the  three  started  away  on  a  concert 
tour.  They  went  to  Munich,  where  the  youngsters 
astonished  the  Bavarian  Court  by  their  performances. 
Then  they  went  to  Vienna,  where  the  boy,  on  their 
arrival,  "squared"  the  Custom  House  officer  by  playing 
him  a  minuet  on  the  violin.  The  trio  were  commanded 
to  appear  at  Court,  and  Wolfgang  immediately  became 
a  great  pet  there.    He  would  jump  into  the  Empress' 


MOZART  !  IMMORTAL  MOZART  !  73 

lap,  throw  his  arms  round  her  neck,  and  cover  her  with 
kisses.  The  future  unhappy  Queen  of  France,  Marie 
Antoinette,  was  particularly  charmed  with  him,  and  one 
day,  when  she  helped  him  up  after  a  fall,  he  innocently 
said  :  "  You  are  good,  and  when  I  am  a  man  I  will 
marry  you."    It  was  a  pity  he  didn't ! 

All  this  was  very  gratifying  to  Papa  Mozart,  but 
he  complained  that  there  was  no  money  in  it.  "  If  the 
kisses  bestowed  upon  Wolfgang  could  be  transformed 
into  good  louis  d'or,  we  should  have  nothing  to  grumble 
at.  The  misfortune  is  that  the  hotel-keepers  have  no 
desire  to  be  paid  in  kisses."  At  another  time  he  wrote  : 
"  We  have  swords,  laces,  mantillas,  snuff-boxes,  gold 
cases,  sufficient  to  furnish  a  shop ;  but  as  for  money, 
it  is  a  scarce  article,  and  I  am  positively  poor."  It  was 
only  when  they  came  to  London  in  1764,  after  being 
in  Paris,  that  the  Mozarts  seem  to  have  put  money  in 
their  purse. 

Here  they  played  before  George  III.  and  his  Queen, 
who  gave  them  twenty-four  guineas  for  each  perform- 
ance. Wolfgang,  too,  got  fifty  guineas  for  a  set  of 
six  sonatas  composed  and  dedicated  to  the  Queen. 
There  were  public  concerts  also,  the  advertisements  of 
which  read  quaintly  enough  to-day.  Thus  one  concert 
is  announced  :  "  For  the  benefit  of  Miss  Mozart,  of 
eleven,  and  Master  Mozart,  of  seven,  prodigies  of  nature. 
Everybody  will  be  astonished  to  hear  a  child  of  such 
tender  age  playing  the  harpsichord  in  such  perfection. 
It  surmounts  all  fantasy  and  imagination,  and  it  is  hard 
to  express  which  is  more  astonishing,  his  execution 


74  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

upon  the  harpsichord,  playing  at  sight,  or  his  own 
composition."  In  another  advertisement,  "  ladies  and 
gentlemen  who  chusc  to  come  "  are  told  they  will  find 
the  wonderful  boy  at  home  every  day  from  twelve  till 
two,  and  "  have  an  opportunity  of  putting  his  talents 
to  a  more  particular  proof  by  giving  him  anything  to 
play  at  sight,  or  any  music  without  a  bass,  which  he 
will  write  upon  the  spot  without  recurring  to  his  harpsi- 
chord." In  a  third  advertisement  it  was  intimated  that 
"  the  two  children  will  play  together  with  four  hands 
upon  the  same  harpsichord,  and  put  upon  it  a  hand- 
kerchief without  seeing  the  keys." 

Mozart  had  been  over  a  year  in  London  when  he  left 
it  in  July  1765,  never  to  return.  The  scholastic  side  of 
his  training  had  yet  to  be  seen  to,  and  the  boy,  making 
his  way  through  Holland  and  France,  playing  as  he 
went,  now  returned  to  Salzburg,  and  settled  down  to 
serious  theoretical  study.  It  is  a  matter  of  debate 
among  his  biographers  whether  the  feverish  excitement 
of  these  prodigy  exhibitions  did  not  undermine  his  con- 
stitution and  help  to  bring  about  his  early  death.  It  is 
likely  enough.  The  precious  days  of  youth  should  be 
devoted  primarily  to  the  storing  up  of  health,  without 
which  lasting  success  is  impossible.  Nothing  is  more 
harmful  to  sound  physical  development  and  mental 
growth  than  the  strain  of  extensive  tours  ;  and  it  can 
hardly  be  doubted  that  Mozart's  health  suffered  a 
serious  check  by  the  unnatural  way  in  which  his  talent 
was  stimulated  in  his  earlier  years.  Still,  it  would  be 
unfair  to  blame  his  father  entirely,  as  some  writers  have 


MOZART  !  IMMORTAL  MOZART  !  75 

done.  Leopold  Mozart's  after  life  sufficiently  proves 
that  his  desire  was  unselfish,  and  that  his  heart  was  set 
on  the  welfare  of  his  offspring.  "  God,"  he  said,  "  has 
endowed  my  children  with  such  genius  that,  laying 
aside  my  duty  as  a  father,  my  ambition  urges  me  to 
sacrifice  all  else  to  their  education." 

After  the  tours,  then,  the  education  began  in  real 
earnest.  By  the  time  he  was  fourteen,  Mozart  was  gene- 
rally considered  to  have  mastered  the  whole  technique 
of  his  art,  and  to  himself  nothing  seemed  necessary  by 
way  of  finishing  touch  but  a  journey  to  Italy.  Every 
young  composer  had  that  ambition  in  the  old  days. 
Some  never  realised  it ;  Mozart  did.  When  he  got  to 
Rome  his  first  consideration  was  to  hear  the  music  in 
the  Pope's  chapel.  And  here  an  interesting  incident  has 
to  be  recorded.  Twice  a  year  a  celebrated  Misereri  by 
Allegri,  an  early  seventeenth-century  composer,  was 
performed  by  the  choir,  but  the  work,  which  existed 
only  in  MS.,  was  so  highly  esteemed  that  to  copy  it  was 
a  crime  visited  with  excommunication.  Young  Mozart 
nevertheless  determined  that  he  would  secure  a  copy, 
and  after  two  hearings  he  had  the  whole  thing  so  per- 
fectly on  paper  that  next  year  Dr.  Burney,  the  musical 
historian,  was  able  to  publish  it  in  London.  All  the 
great  composers  had  wonderful  memories,  but  Mozart 
stood  pre-eminent.  He  had  a  constant  habit  of  playing 
his  concertos  in  public  without  a  "bit"  of  music.  In 
a  concert  at  Leipzig,  some  three  years  before  his  death, 
he  performed  his  concerto  in  C.  The  band  all  in  readi- 
ness, Mozart  sat  down  to  the  piano  to  begin  the  com- 


76  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

position.  What  was  the  surprise  of  the  audience,  how- 
ever, to  see  him  place  on  the  desk,  not  his  part,  but  a 
small  piece  of  paper  scribbled  with  a  few  notes  to  re- 
mind him  how  some  of  the  passages  began.  "  Oh,"  he 
replied,  upon  being  questioned  by  a  friend,  *'the  piano 
part  is  safely  locked  up  in  my  desk  at  Vienna.  I  am 
obliged  to  take  this  precaution  when  travelling,  other- 
wise people  contrive  somehow  or  other  to  get  copies  of 
my  scores  and  print  them — while  I  starve."  Of  course 
all  the  virtuosi  play  from  memory  now,  but  the  accom- 
plishment was  rarer  in  Mozart's  day. 

The  young  composer's  progress  through  the  Italian 
cities  was  a  continued  triumph.  The  Pope  decorated 
him,  looking  upon  his  surreptitious  copying  of  the 
jealously -guarded  Miser eri  as  too  wonderful  to  be 
condemned.  Poets  made  rhymes  about  him  ;  medals 
were  struck  in  his  honour.  When  he  was  playing  at 
Naples,  the  audience  took  it  into  their  heads  that  a  ring 
which  he  wore  on  his  finger  was  a  talisman,  and  inter- 
rupted the  performance  until  he  removed  it,  when  he 
played  more  brilliantly  than  before.  Everywhere  the 
same  enthusiasm  was  manifested.  In  fact  it  would 
only  be  wasting  valuable  space  to  dwell  further  on 
Mozart's  youthful  triumphs.  The  record  might  be  ex- 
tended to  portentous  length,  but,  as  one  biographer  has 
said,  apart  from  the  proof  which  these  successes  furnish 
of  his  extraordinary  precocity,  they  are  of  little  vital 
significance  in  the  great  problem  of  his  career,  except 
so  far  as  they  stimulated  the  marvellous  boy  to  lay  a 
deep  foundation  for  his  greater  future. 


MOZART  !  IMMORTAL  MOZART  !  77 

We  may,  therefore,  pass  over  a  year  or  two  and  pick 
him  up  at  1777,  when  he  went  to  Paris  with  his  mother, 
half  intending  to  make  Paris  his  future  residence.  Un- 
happily, soon  after  their  arrival  his  mother  died.  Then 
he  found  he  could  not  get  on  with  the  French.  "  The 
French  are,  and  always  will  be,  downright  donkeys," 
he  said.  "  They  cannot  sing ;  they  scream."  He  de- 
clared that  their  language  had  been  invented  by  the 
devil.  He  objected  also  to  their  coarseness  and  their 
frivolity.  "  The  ungodly  arch-villain,  Voltaire,  has  died 
like  a  dog,"  he  wrote.  Mozart  was  deeply  religious,  and 
Voltaire's  atheism  shocked  him.  "  I  have  always  had 
God  before  my  eyes,"  he  once  wrote.  "  Friends  who 
have  no  religion  cannot  long  be  my  friends."  And  we 
recognise  the  loving  unspoiled  heart  of  a  boy  in  the 
young  man's  words,  ''  Next  to  God  comes  papa."  In 
this  matter  of  religious  feeling  he  was  like  his  friend 
Haydn.  He  returned  to  Germany  in  1779,  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  French  music  and  musicians.  This  was 
the  dawn  of  his  classical  period  as  a  composer.  And 
what  hardships  he  had  to  endure !  At  Mannheim, 
where  he  had  settled,  lack  of  money  pinched  him  close. 
"  I  have  only  one  room,"  he  told  his  father  ;  "  it  is  quite 
crammed  with  a  piano,  a  table,  a  bed,  and  a  chest  of 
drawers."  Yet  he,  too,  like  Haydn  in  similar  circum- 
stances, proposed  to  marry  !  He  had  fallen  in  love,  and 
the  episode  makes  a  very  pretty  story.  At  Mannheim 
there  lived  a  certain  orchestral  copyist  and  stage 
prompter  named  Weber,  an  uncle,  by  the  way,  of  the 
composer  of  Der  Freischutz.    Weber  had  a  daughter, 


78  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Aloysia,  a  girl  of  fifteen,  pretty  and  musical.  Mozart 
was  engaged  to  teach  her  singing,  and  she  engaged  her- 
self to  Jiim — temporarily.  Mozart  was  only  twenty- 
three  at  this  time,  and  he  was  still  largely  dependent  on 
his  father,  who  advised  him  to  "  get  the  great  folks  on 
your  side  "  before  thinking  of  marriage.  But  Mozart 
would  listen  to  no  warning.  He  even  proposed  to  take 
Aloysia  to  Salzburg  "to  make  the  acquaintance  of  dear 
papa  " ;  hoping,  of  course,  that  papa  would  give  way 
when  he  discovered  the  lady's  charms  and  accomplish- 
ments. 

But  papa  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  Aloysia, 
even  when  told  that  she  sang  divinely  and  played 
sonatas  at  first  sight.  In  the  meanwhile  Aloysia  had 
obtained  an  engagement  at  the  Munich  Theatre.  There 
she  achieved  a  success,  and  the  success  turned  her  little 
head.  An  impecunious  musician  for  a  husband  was  now 
quite  out  of  the  question,  and  she  frankly  said  so. 
Mozart  bore  the  trial  very  well  for  a  sensitive,  emotional 
young  man  of  twenty -four.  He  even  wrote  to  his 
father  :  "  I  was  a  fool  about  Aloysia,  I  own  ;  but  what 
is  a  man  not  when  in  love  ?  "    Aye,  what  not,  indeed  ! 

Mozart  was  not  long  in  making  a  fool  of  himself 
again.  Aloysia  had  married  an  actor  by  this  time  ;  but 
copyist  Weber  had  three  daughters  still  on  his  hands, 
and  one  of  them  took  Mozart's  fancy.  He  could  not 
help  himself.  Constance  Weber  had  "  a  pair  of  bright, 
black  eyes  and  a  pretty  figure" ;  she  was  "  kind-hearted, 
clever,  modest,  good-tempered,  economical,  neat."  It 
was  utterly  untrue,  as  Mozart  plre  had  asserted,  that 


MOZART!  IMMORTAL  MOZART!  79 

she  was  extravagant.  On  the  contrary,  she  dressed 
her  own  hair,  understood  housekeeping,  and  had  the 
best  heart  in  the  world.  Mozart  loved  her  with  his 
"  whole  soul,"  and  she  loved  him.  Mozart  wanted  a 
wife  to  look  after  his  linen,  and  because  he  could  not 
live  like  the  fast  young  men  around  him.  What  more 
was  to  be  said  ?  A  good  deal,  at  any  rate  by  "  dear 
papa,"  who  took  the  common-sense  view  that  Wolf- 
gang should  wait  until  he  could  afford  to  keep  a  wife. 
Wolfgang,  like  the  wayward  son  in  the  novel,  held  a 
different  opinion.  ''  Constance,"  he  wrote  to  his  father, 
*'  is  a  well-conducted,  good  girl,  of  respectable  parent- 
age, and  I  am  in  a  position  to  earn  at  least  daily  bread 
for  her.  We  love  each  other  and  are  resolved  to  marry. 
All  that  you  have  written,  or  may  possibly  write,  on 
this  subject  can  be  nothing  but  well-meant  advice, 
which,  however  good  and  sensible,  can  no  longer  apply 
to  a  man  who  has  gone  so  far  with  a  girl.  There  can 
therefore  be  no  question  of  further  delay."  This  was 
emphatic  enough.  The  letter  was  followed  immedi- 
ately by  another,  asking  consent  to  an  early  marriage. 
As  no  reply  came,  Mozart  took  silence  for  consent, 
and,  in  the  summer  of  1782,  celebrated  a  quiet  wedding 
at  St.  Stephen's,  Vienna  (where  Haydn  had  been 
married  twenty-two  years  before),  his  bride  being 
eighteen  and  himself  twenty-six. 

Was  it,  then,  a  happy  wedded  life  upon  which  Mozart 
thus  entered?  So  far  as  can  be  gathered  from  his 
letters,  it  was — for  him.  Indeed,  if  we  look  at  Frau 
Mozart  with  her  husband's  loving  eyes,  we  shall  see  no 


8o  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

fault  in  her  from  first  to  last.  But  unfortunately  Con- 
stance knew  next  to  nothing  about  housekeeping  ;  and 
as  Mozart  himself  soared  far  above  such  mundane 
things,  the  home  was  too  often  the  scene  of  untidiness 
and  disorder,  to  which  the  perpetual  worry  of  pecuniary 
embarrassments  added  anything  but  a  pleasing  flavour. 
There  is  a  pathetically  significant  story  to  the  effect 
that  a  friend  called  one  winter  day,  and  found  Mozart 
and  his  wife  waltzing  round  the  room.  "  We  were  cold," 
they  explained,  "  and  we  have  no  wood  to  make  a  fire." 
Think  of  that,  and  then  think  of  the  glorious  works 
Mozart  produced  under  such  depressing  conditions ! 
And,  to  whatever  extent  his  wife  may  have  been  to 
blame  for  the  irregularities  and  shortcomings  of  the 
household,  he  at  least  never  grumbled.  His  devotion 
to  her  was  of  that  simple  and  childlike  nature  which 
makes  sunshine  in  the  house,  even  when  the  prospect 
seems  darkest.  When  he  went  travelling  he  carried  the 
portrait  of  his  Constance  in  his  breast,  and  sent  her 
a  daily  letter,  couched  in  the  most  endearing  terms. 
In  one  letter  he  "encloses"  her  1,095,060,437,082 
kisses  !  And  so  the  chequered,  yet  withal  happy,  life 
went  on  to  the  end.  Almost  his  last  written  words 
were  addressed  by  Mozart  to  his  wife :  "  The  hour 
strikes.    Farewell !    We  shall  meet  again." 

Within  the  nine  years  of  the  composer's  married 
life  four  sons  and  two  daughters  were  born  to  him. 
Only  two  of  the  sons,  Karl  and  Wolfgang  Amadeus, 
survived.  The  latter  adopted  his  father's  profession, 
and  died  at  Carlsbad  in   1844.    Karl  was  a  modest 


MOZART!  IMMORTAL  MOZART!  8i 

Austrian  official,  "  a  book-keeper  of  some  kind,"  and 
died  at  Milan  in  1858.  Neither  of  the  two  married, 
and  so  there  is  not  a  single  descendant  of  Mozart  alive 
to-day.  His  beloved  sister,  the  prodigy  Nannerl,  be- 
came a  handsome  woman ;  married  (in  1784)  a  widower 
with  several  children  ;  and  died  in  1829,  twenty-eight 
years  after  her  husband.  She  was  all  her  life  devoted 
to  music.  She  even  composed  a  few  pieces,  and  was 
an  excellent  teacher  as  well  as  performer.  Mozart's 
widow,  it  may  be  convenient  to  add  here,  remarried 
and  long  outlived  her  husband,  dying  as  late  as  1842. 
She  had  inspired  her  new  consort  (his  name  was 
Nissen)  with  such  devotion  to  Mozart's  fame  that  he 
wrote  a  eulogistic  biography  of  the  composer.  There 
cannot  be  many  instances  of  a  second  husband  doing 
that  sort  of  thing  for  the  first. 

Mozart's  marriage  was  very  nearly  coincident  with 
his  serious  start  as  a  composer.  With  a  wife  and  a 
young  family  growing  up  around  him,  he  was  spurred 
to  endeavour  in  their  interests.  He  settled  in  Vienna, 
where  Haydn  already  was,  and  where  Beethoven  and 
Schubert  would  soon  be ;  and  there  he  burnt  himself 
out,  like  a  torch  expending  its  light  in  the  wind.  As 
an  American  writer  has  said,  poverty  and  increasing 
expense  pricked  him  into  intense,  restless  energy.  His 
life  now  had  no  lull  in  its  creative  industry.  His 
splendid  genius,  unsatiable  and  tireless,  broke  down  his 
body,  like  a  sword  wearing  out  its  scabbard.  He  poured 
out  symphonies  (forty-nine  in  all),  operas,  and  sonatas 
with  a  prodigality  positively  staggering,  even  when 

G 


82  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

we  recollect  how  fertile  musical  genius  has  often  been. 
Alike  as  artist  and  composer,  he  never  ceased  his 
labours.  Day  after  day  and  night  after  night  he  hardly 
snatched  an  hour's  rest.  We  can  almost  fancy  he 
foreboded  how  short  his  life  was  to  be,  and  felt  im- 
pelled to  crowd  into  its  brief  compass  its  largest 
measure  of  results. 

His  greatest  works  of  these  years — nay,  the  greatest 
works  of  his  life — are  the  operas  of  Figaro^  Don 
Giovanni,  and  //  Flauto  Magico,  a  trio  that  have  main- 
tained their  artistic  supremacy  despite  the  many 
changes  occurring  in  musical  taste  during  a  century. 
Of  the  three,  perhaps  the  greatest  is  Don  Giovanni, 
The  story  has  often  been  told  how  Mozart  began  the 
composition  with  his  usual  energy,  appeared  to  get 
indifferent,  and  put  off  the  work  till  near  the  time 
fixed  for  its  production  at  Prague.  To  Prague  he 
journeyed  to  finish  the  score ;  and  it  is  said  that  he 
wrote  a  considerable  part  of  the  work  in  a  summer- 
house  while  he  kept  up  a  conversation  with  some 
gentlemen  playing  bowls  near  by.  The  overture,  at  any 
rate,  was  entirely  written  after  midnight,  the  day  before 
it  was  required  for  the  first  performance,  and  there 
was  barely  time  for  the  copyist  to  write  out  the  parts 
before  the  beginning  of  the  opera,  which,  indeed,  was 
somewhat  delayed  on  that  account.  And  yet,  all  that 
Mozart  received  for  this  immortal  work  was  ;^20. 
A  present-day  copyist  would  get  more  than  that  for 
merely  transcribing  it.  The  prices  paid  to  Mozart  for 
some  of  his  operas  were  incredibly  and  ridiculously 


MOZART  !  IMMORTAL  MOZART  !  83 

small.  In  those  days  nobody  seemed  to  think  of  the 
productions  of  musical  genius  as  a  marketable  com- 
modity. Even  literary  men  were  not  paid  at  so  much 
per  thousand  words  then. 

And,  alas  !  there  was  little  money  to  be  obtained 
by  other  means.  Mozart  tried  frequent  tours  to  recruit 
his  finances,  but  the  returns  were  so  small  that,  to 
purchase  a  meal,  he  would  often  pawn  the  gifts 
showered  on  him.  There  is  an  authentic  story  of  his 
pawning  his  plate  in  order  to  get  to  Frankfort  for  the 
coronation  of  the  Emperor.  Audiences  would  carry 
him  to  his  hotel  on  their  shoulders  and — leave  him  to 
beg  for  his  dinner.  So  he  struggled  on  through  his  last 
years,  with  the  wolf  constantly  at  the  door,  and  with 
an  invalid  wife,  whom  he  passionately  loved,  yet  must 
needs  see  suffer,  not  only  from  the  lack  of  alleviating 
medicines,  but  from  the  lack  of  the  common  necessaries 
of  life.  Mr.  Haweis  says  it  is  difficult  to  account  for 
all  this.  But  let  us  remember  that  Mozart's  purse  was 
always  open  to  his  friends,  and  that  he  was  obliged 
to  mix  on  equal  terms  with  his  superiors  in  rank.  He 
was  open-handed  almost  to  criminality,  as  when  he 
once,  in  the  course  of  a  tour,  lent  a  total  stranger  a 
hundred  francs.  There  may  have  been  bad  manage- 
ment in  the  home,  but  we  cannot  read  Mozart's  letters 
and  accuse  him  of  wanton  extravagance.  He  had  the 
social  character  and  the  failings  of  his  time  and  en- 
vironment— that  was  all.  And  then  he  was  such  a 
poor  business  man.  He  lost  a  golden  chance  of  better- 
ing his  fortunes  under  the  patronage  of  the  King  of 


84  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Prussia.  He  had  almost  made  up  his  mind  to  accept 
the  King's  offer,  and  came  to  the  Emperor  Leopold, 
more  than  half  prepared  to  resign  a  small  post  he 
held.  "  What !  do  you  mean  to  forsake  me,  Mozart  ?  " 
ejaculated  the  Emperor.  Emotionally  touched,  Mozart 
replied  :  "  May  it  please  your  Majesty,  I  will  stay." 
When  friends  asked  him  afterwards  if  he  had  not 
thought  of  obtaining  some  little  piece  of  imperial 
favour  by  way  of  compensation  at  the  time,  and  with 
such  a  powerful  lever  in  his  hand,  he  answered  inno- 
cently, "  Who  would  have  thought  of  that  on  such  an 
occasion  ?  "  This  shows  the  character  of  the  man.  Who 
would  not  have  thought  of  it  ? 

In  1 791  the  composer  entered  upon  his  thirty-sixth 
and  last  year.  His  wife  had  been  at  Baden  for  her 
health,  and  when  she  returned  she  noticed  with  alarm 
a  pallor  more  fatal  than  her  own  upon  her  husband's 
face.  Mozart,  weak  and  ill,  had  grown  silent  and 
melancholy.  And  that  Requiem  commission,  referred 
to  at  the  outset,  had  been  preying  on  his  mind.  It  is  a 
weird  story,  and  may  be  told  as  recorded  by  Dr.  Nohl. 
One  day  an  unknown  messenger  appeared  at  Mozart's 
door :  a  tall,  haggard  man,  dressed  in  grey,  with  a 
sombre  expression  of  countenance :  a  most  singular 
figure,  quite  calculated  to  make  an  uncanny  expression. 
This  man  brought  Mozart  an  anonymous  letter,  in 
which  he  was  asked  to  name  the  sum  he  would  take 
to  write  a  Mass  for  the  dead.  Mozart  accepted  the  com- 
mission, and  fixed  the  price  at  fifty  ducats.  Shortly 
afterwards  the  messenger  returned,  paid  the  money, 


MOZART!  IMMORTAL  MOZART!  85 

and  promised  an  additional  honorarium  when  the 
Requiem  was  completed.  Mozart  was  told  at  the  same 
time  to  spare  himself  the  trouble  of  trying  to  find  out 
the  name  of  his  employer,  as  that  must  remain  a  secret. 

Mozart  began  the  composition  at  once.  But  he 
could  not  get  rid  of  the  uncomfortable  idea  suggested 
by  the  mystery  of  the  commission,  and  the  fact  that  the 
work  was  for  the  dead.  It  soon  preyed  on  his  mind ; 
and  one  day,  after  he  had  been  toiling  at  it,  he  said, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes  :  "  I  well  know  that  I  am  writ- 
ing this  Requiem  for  myself."  So  it  proved,  as  we 
have  already  seen.  Enough  has  been  said  on  that 
point.  But  who  was  the  mysterious  person  who  com- 
missioned this  fateful  work  ?  He  was  a  certain  Count 
Walsegg,  who  wanted  to  pose  as  a  composer,  and  who, 
having  at  length  got  the  Requiem  as  completed  by 
Mozart's  pupil,  Sussmayer,  had  a  transcript  made,  and 
performed  the  work  as  his  own.  The  fraud  was  ulti- 
mately discovered,  but  not  before  the  conceited  Count 
had  gained  a  measure  of  fame  by  decking  himself  out 
in  the  borrowed  plumes  of  the  dead  master. 

Mozart's  death  took  place  on  December  5,  1791. 
Success  was  just  about  to  come  to  him,  as  it  was  about 
to  come  to  Schubert  when  he  was  called  away.  As  he 
lay  there,  with  swollen  limbs  and  burning  head,  Vienna 
was  ringing  with  the  fame  of  his  last  opera.  They 
brought  him,  too,  the  well-paid  appointment  of  organist 
of  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral,  \vhere  Haydn  had  sung  as 
a  choir  boy ;  where  he  and  Mozart  had  been  married. 
Managers  besieged  his  door  with  handfuls  of  gold, 


86  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

pleading  with  him  to  compose  something  for  them. 
Too  late  '  too  late  now  !  Mozart  had  answered  another 
call.  One  cannot  help  moralising  on  the  sad  fate  of 
genius  cut  off  while  its  powers  are  still  in  the  ascendant. 
Schubert  died  at  thirty-one,  Mozart  at  thirty-five, 
Purcell  and  Bizet  (the  composer  of  Carmen)  at  thirty- 
seven,  Mendelssohn  at  thirty-eight,  Chopin  at  thirty- 
nine,  and  Schumann  at  forty-six.  Think  if  Mozart  had 
seen  Bach's  sixty-five  summers ;  if  Schubert,  born  with 
Mercadante  in  1797,  had  died  with  Mercadante  in 
1870!  What  grand  creations  might  we  not  have  had 
to  add  to  the  world's  heritage  of  music  ! 

Mozart  might  be  described  as  a  sort  of  Peter  Pan 
who  never  grew  up.  He  was  always  the  sublime  child. 
All  his  adult  life  he  suffered  from  abnormal  restiveness. 
His  barber  has  told  what  a  trouble  it  was  to  shave 
him.  No  sooner  was  he  seated,  his  neck  encircled  with 
a  cloth,  than  he  became  lost  in  thought  and  oblivious 
of  all  around  him.  Then,  without  a  word,  he  would 
jump  up,  move  about  the  room,  pass  often  into  the 
adjoining  one,  while,  comb  or  razor  in  hand,  the  hair- 
dresser followed  him.  At  table  it  was  frequently 
necessary  to  recall  him  to  a  sense  of  his  surroundings, 
for  his  fits  of  abstraction  would  recur  continually,  and 
directly  an  inspiration  seized  him  he  forgot  everything 
else.  He  would  twist  and  untwist  a  corner  of  his 
dinner  napkin,  pass  it  mechanically  under  his  nose, 
making  at  the  same  time  the  most  extraordinary  and 
grotesque  grimaces.  Musical  geniuses  are  apt  to  be- 
have in  that  way.    Wagner  sometimes  stood  on  his 


MOZART  !  IMMORTAL  MOZART  !  87 

head,  and  Beethoven  washed  his  hands  in  the  middle 
of  the  room  and  emptied  the  basin  on  the  floor. 

As  a  man,  barring  perhaps  his  improvidence,  Mozart 
was  wholly  admirable,  though,  along  with  Schubert, 
he  has  suffered  from  the  charge  of  being  dissipated. 
Considering  that  in  his  short  life  he  produced  the 
prodigious  total  of  769  compositions,  ranging  from  the 
very  largest  to  the  simplest  song  forms,  his  failings  in 
this  direction  must  have  been  very  venial.  His  por- 
traits show  him  to  have  been  a  handsome  man,  though 
of  slight  build,  with  an  ample  forehead,  regular  features, 
cleft  chin,  dreamy  eyes,  and  well-arched  brows.  His 
hair,  of  which  he  was  rather  vain,  is  of  course  powdered 
and  in  a  tie  ;  and  he  wears  the  high-collared,  large- 
buttoned  coat,  plain  neckcloth,  and  wide-frilled  shirt 
of  the  period.  He  was  always  pale,  and  he  had  a 
pleasant  though  not  striking  face.  Under  excitement 
his  eyes  lost  their  languid  look.  One  who  was  present 
at  the  rehearsal  of  Figaro  wrote  :  "  I  shall  never  for- 
get Mozart's  little  countenance  when  lighted  up  with 
the  glowing  rays  of  genius.  It  is  as  impossible  to 
describe  it  as  it  would  be  to  paint  sunbeams."  In  some 
reminiscences  his  widow  said  that  he  "  loved  all  the 
arts  and  possessed  a  taste  for  most  of  them.  He  could 
draw,  and  was  an  excellent  dancer.  His  voice  was  a 
light  tenor  ;  his  speaking  tone  gentle,  unless  when 
directing  music,  when  he  became  loud  and  energetic 
— would  even  stamp  with  his  feet  and  might  be  heard 
at  a  considerable  distance.  His  hands  were  very  small 
and  delicate.    His  favourite  amusements  were  bowls 


88  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

and  billiards."  To  all  this  the  enthusiastic  widow 
added  :  ''  He  was  an  angel,  and  is  one  in  heaven  now." 
Mozart  was  very  particular  about  his  clothes,  and  wore 
a  good  deal  of  embroidery  and  jewelry.  On  the  whole 
he  was  perhaps  insignificant-looking,  but  he  did  not 
like  to  be  made  aware  of  the  fact,  or  to  have  his  small 
stature  commented  on.  It  should  perhaps  be  stated 
that  he  had  a  peculiarly-shaped  ear  passage,  much 
smaller  than  usual,  which  may  or  may  not  have  had 
a  bearing  on  his  musical  sensibility.  The  lobe  of  the 
left  ear  was  thicker  than  that  of  the  right,  a  peculiarity 
also  possessed  by  Haydn. 

Mozart's  musical  greatness  has  been  acknowledged 
by  all  his  fellow  composers.  Weber,  Mendelssohn  and 
Wagner  praised  him  in  enthusiastic  terms.  Meyerbeer's 
eyes  became  moist  when  speaking  of  him.  "  Who  is 
your  favourite  among  the  great  masters  ?  "  Rossini  was 
once  asked.  "  Beethoven,"  he  replied,  "  I  take  twice  a 
week,  Haydn  four  times,  and  Mozart  every  day."  Once 
he  put  it  even  more  pointedly  than  this.  He  had  been 
speaking  to  a  friend  about  Beethoven,  whom  he  called 
the  greatest  of  all  musicians.  "What,  then,  of  Mozart?" 
he  was  asked.  *'  Oh,"  returned  the  sprightly  Rossini, 
*'  Mozart  is  not  the  greatest,  he  is  the  only  musician 
in  the  world."  Ferdinand  David  said  finely  that 
"  Mozart  was  music  made  man."  And  finally  we 
may  quote  Schubert.  *' O  Mozart!"  said  he,  "im- 
mortal Mozart !  how  many  and  what  countless  images 
of  a  brighter,  better  world  hast  thou  stamped  on  our 
souls." 


ii?*^'%!'t 


^^tF'    m^^^ 


fj 

■tf :-!:  ;A 

I 

\jmfa\a^^- 


THE   DEAF   BEETHOVEN 

For  years  I  have  avoided  almost  all  society,  because  I  cannot 
tell  people  /  ain  deaf.  I  have  to  appear  as  a  misanthrope  ;  I, 
who  am  so  little  of  one. — Beethoven. 

What  musician,  going  up  the  Rhine,  would  fail  to 
make  a  call  at  the  pretty  university  town  of  Bonn, 
where  Ludwig  van  Beethoven  was  born  in  the  December 
of  1770?  There,  to-day,  stands  a  memorial  monument, 
on  the  pedestal  of  which  is  engraved,  in  all  its  rugged 
simplicity  and  appropriateness,  the  one  word  "  Beet- 
hoven." And  there,  too,  in  a  side  street  known  as  the 
Bonngasse,  one  may  see  the  identical  house  whose 
lowly  walls  echoed  to  the  infant  cries  of  this  musical 
giant  who  bound  the  eighteenth  to  the  nineteenth 
century.  For  many  years  the  house  was  given  over 
to  common  and  even  ignoble  uses  ;  but  at  last,  in  1889, 
it  was  purchased  (for  nearly  ;^3000)  by  a  number  of 
Beethoven  enthusiasts,  and  now  it  is  filled  with  relics 
of  Beethoven  interest,  which  every  admirer  of  the  great 
master  loves  to  see. 

Beethoven  came  of  a  musical  family,  for  his  grand- 
father was  a  kapellmeister,  while  his  father,  a  tenor 
singer,  filled  a  small  musical  post  in  the  establishment 

89 


90  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

of  the  Elector  of  Cologne.  The  grandfather  was  born 
in  Antwerp,  but  he  quarrelled  with  his  parents  there, 
and  went  off  to  Bonn  in  1732.  His  wife,  Beethoven's 
grandmother,  took  to  drink,  and  Beethoven's  father  did 
the  same.  The  father  was,  in  fact,  a  confirmed  sot,  loaf- 
ing about  the  beer-houses,  and  boasting  to  his  muddled 
companions  about  his  boy's  gifts  and  his  bright  future. 
He  had  heard  of  the  prodigy  Mozart  and  the  money 
he  brought  to  his  parents,  and  he  conceived  the  idea 
of  exploiting  his  own  son  for  the  same  purpose. 

True,  his  son  was  no  prodigy  :  on  the  contrary,  he 
early  showed  a  positive  dislike  for  music.  Nevertheless, 
the  father  kept  him  slaving  away  at  the  piano,  and 
would  often  give  him  a  beating  when  he  evinced  a  dis- 
inclination to  practise.  We  read  of  the  little  fellow 
being  dragged  from  bed  and  set  down  to  the  instru- 
ment when  the  drunken  father  would  come  home  late 
at  night.  The  parent's  conduct  cast  a  deep  gloom  over 
Beethoven's  youth  ;  and  it  can  hardly  be  doubted  that 
the  drudgery  he  imposed  and  the  misery  he  caused  in 
the  house  formed  the  germs  of  suspicion  and  mis- 
anthropy which  afterwards  so  markedly  showed  them- 
selves in  Beethoven's  character.  The  miserable  toper 
ended  his  life  at  last  by  his  own  hand,  but  not  before 
Beethoven,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  had  been  officially 
appointed  head  of  the  family. 

In  process  of  time  the  future  composer's  musical 
sensibilities  awakened,  and  having  been  sent  to  the 
Court  organist  for  lessons,  he  made  such  progress  that 
before  he  was  twelve  he  was  deputising  for  his  master 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  91 

at  the  Court  chapel.  At  thirteen  he  became  a  "  cem- 
balist"— a  pianist,  as  we  would  say — in  the  theatre 
orchestra.  And  thereby  hangs  a  tale.  One  of  the 
singers,  a  man  named  Keller,  had  been  boasting  of 
his  correct  ear,  and  declaring  that  Beethoven  could  not 
"throw  him  out."  A  wager  was  ultimately  accepted  on 
the  point.  During  an  interlude  in  one  piece,  Beethoven 
modulated  to  a  key  so  remote  that,  though  he  struck 
the  note  which  Keller  should  have  taken  up,  Keller 
was  defeated,  and  came  to  a  dead  stand.  Exasperated 
by  the  laughter  of  the  audience,  he  complained  of 
Beethoven  to  the  Elector,  who  gave  the  cembalist  "  a 
most  gracious  reprimand,"  and  told  him  not  to  play 
any  more  clever  tricks  of  that  sort. 

Beethoven  seems  to  have  had  no  regular  course  of 
theoretical  instruction  in  his  native  town  ;  but  when  he 
was  seventeen  he  managed  to  get  to  Vienna,  where  he 
met  Mozart  and  had  some  lessons  from  him.  "Mind, 
you  will  hear  that  boy  talked  of,"  said  Mozart  to  a 
friend  after  Beethoven  had  played  to  him.  Beethoven 
subsequently  met  Haydn,  who  first  encouraged  him 
to  persevere  with  his  studies,  and  then  took  him  for 
a  pupil.  Beethoven  refused  to  describe  himself  as 
Haydn's  pupil  on  the  title-pages  of  his  early  works, 
because,  as  he  said,  "  I  never  learnt  anything  from 
him."  But  this  was  mere  perversity.  The  truth  was 
that  he  and  Haydn  did  not  pull  well  together.  How 
could  they  ?  Their  natures  were  totally  different ; 
and  Beethoven,  self-willed  and  passionate,  must  have 
been  an  unmanageable  pupil  with  any  master.    Besides, 


92  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Haydn  was  now  an  old  man,  and  he  may  not  have 
had  time  or  inclination  to  attend  to  his  pupil  as  the 
pupil  thought  necessary.  At  any  rate,  Beethoven  left 
Haydn  and  put  himself  under  Albrechtsberger,  then 
organist  of  Vienna  Cathedral,  who  conducted  him 
through  the  "  arid  wastes  of  ingenuity,"  and  made  him 
write  as  many  exercises  as  would  have  served  for  a 
generation  of  young  composers. 

In  the  meantime  Beethoven  had  lost  his  sweet, 
patient  mother,  who  died  of  consumption  at  the  age  of 
forty-one,  leaving  the  young  musician,  on  his  return  to 
Bonn,  to  manage  as  best  he  could  his  dissipated  father 
and  the  domestic  concerns  of  the  family.  Happily  he 
made  friends  of  several  influential  people,  who  helped 
him  in  his  home  struggles,  and  did  kindly  offices  of 
various  kinds  for  him.  And  Bonn  soon  saw  him  for 
the  last  time.  He  left  it  when  he  was  twenty-two,  and 
he  never  went  back.  There  were  no  family  ties  to 
recall  him,  and  the  fulfilment  of  his  manifest  destiny 
required  that  he  should  live  in  Vienna. 

So,  then,  to  Vienna  we  go  with  him.  There  he 
gradually  made  name  and  fame  for  himself  among 
the  dilettante  aristocracy,  in  whose  houses  he  was  a 
frequent  and  favoured  guest.  As  a  player  he  never 
showed  any  extraordinary  facility  and  dexterity,  but 
his  style  was  arresting,  and  as  an  extemporiser  he  was 
unrivalled.  When  he  played,  his  muscles  swelled  and 
his  eyes  rolled  wildly.  He  ''  seemed  like  a  magician 
overmastered  by  the  spirits  that  he  conjured  up."  He 
began  to  appear  in  public ;  and  in  1796  he  got  as  far 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  93 

as  Berlin,  where  he  played  before  the  King  and  was 
treated  with  appreciative  distinction. 

So  far,  he  had  not  composed  much  ;  and  indeed  it 
was  not  till  close  on  thirty  that  he  produced  his  first 
symphony,  the  great  C  major.  Nearly  all  his  earlier 
works  were  roundly  abused  by  the  critics.  One  spoke 
of  a  certain  composition  as  "  the  confused  explosions 
of  a  talented  young  man's  overweening  conceit."  An- 
other compared  the  second  symphony  with  a  monster, 
"  a  dragon  wounded  to  death  and  unable  to  die,  thresh- 
ing around  with  its  tail  in  impotent  rage."  Of  the 
seventh  symphony  even  Weber  declared  that  "  the 
extravagances  of  this  genius  have  reached  the  ne  plus 
ultra,  and  Beethoven  is  quite  ripe  for  the  madhouse." 
It  is  really  amusing  to  turn  up  some  of  the  old  news- 
paper notices  and  read  them  now.  This,  for  example  : 
''  Mr.  Van  Beethoven  goes  his  own  path,  and  a  dreary, 
eccentric,  and  tiresome  path  it  is  :  learning,  learning, 
and  nothing  but  learning,  but  not  a  bit  of  nature  or 
melody.  And,  after  all,  it  is  but  a  crude  and  undigested 
learning,  without  method  or  arrangement,  a  seeking 
after  curious  modulations,  a  hatred  of  ordinary  pro- 
gressions, a  heaping  up  of  difficulties,  until  all  the  plea- 
sure and  patience  are  lost."  That  was  how  Beethoven's 
contemporaries  regarded  his  earlier  works.  Then,  of 
course,  when  deafness  came  upon  him,  they  turned  still 
more  sarcastic.  He  could  not  hear,  they  said  :  how 
could  he  understand  what  horrors  of  sound  he  was 
evolving?  When  his  Fidelio  was  first  performed  in 
1805,  they  declared  that  never  before  had  anything  so 


94  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

incoherent,  coarse,  wild,  and  ear-splitting  been  heard ; 
and  they  attributed  it  largely  to  his  physical  defect. 
They  had  not  yet  learnt,  apparently,  that  the  really 
great  composer  is  always  in  advance  of  his  time. 

Once  having  got  the  rush,  Beethoven's  musical  in- 
spirations came  so  profusely  that  he  soon  had  several 
works  going  on  at  the  same  time,  and  had  no  little 
difficulty  in  keeping  separate  the  several  developments. 
His  ideas  poured  forth  like  volcanic  eruptions.  His 
usual  practice  was  to  jot  them  down  roughly,  as  they 
came  into  his  head,  in  little  sketch  books,  which  were 
filled  up  in  a  most  eccentric  way — notes  scribbled  down 
as  often  as  not  without  any  stave  at  all,  and  at  certain 
distances  apart,  which  were  evidently  intended  as  vague 
substitutes  for  lines  and  spaces.  In  his  younger  days 
he  spent  much  time  in  the  woods  and  the  open  country, 
and  it  was  there  that  the  "  raptus  "  would  most  gener- 
ally find  him.  "  No  man  on  earth  can  love  the  country 
as  I  do,"  he  said.  But  the  country  was  not  the 
same  to  him  when  he  could  not  hear  the  birds.  Then 
he  would  stamp  and  stride  about  his  room  like  a 
caged  lion,  singing  and  shouting  the  themes  that 
were  coursing  through  his  brain,  and  thrashing  them 
out  in  a  wild  way  on  the  piano. 

And  this  brings  us  to  the  great  tragic  fact  of  Beet- 
hoven's career — his  deafness,  which  came  upon  him  in 
1800,  after  he  had  published  the  thirty-two  sonatas, 
three  concertos,  two  symphonies,  nine  trios,  and  numer- 
ous smaller  works.  In  all  musical  biography  there  is 
nothing  so  terrible  to  read  about  as  the  deafness  of 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  95 

Beethoven.  For  a  musician  to  lose  his  sight  is  calamity 
enough,  and  several  musicians  besides  Bach  and  Handel 
have  suffered  it.  But  the  blind  musician  can  still  hear 
his  own  creations.  The  deaf  musician  may  write,  as 
Beethoven  wrote,  some  of  the  grandest  inspirations 
ever  given  to  the  world,  but  while  others  are  hearing 
these  inspirations,  he  cannot  hear.  Such  was  Beet- 
hoven's painful  experience.  It  is  staggering  to  reflect 
that  he  never  himself  felt  the  thrill  of  that  noble  music 
of  his  own,  produced  in  his  later  years. 

Yet  it  is  thus,  and  ever  thus — 

The  glory  is  in  giving  ; 
Those  monarchs  taste  a  deathless  joy 

That  agonised  while  living. 

This  distressing  affliction  of  Beethoven's  life  had 
begun  to  show  itself  as  early  as  1778,  but  it  was  two 
years  later  before  it  became  acute.  When  he  awoke  to 
his  danger,  a  cry  of  woe  went  forth  that  touched  the 
hearts  of  all  his  friends,  who,  alas !  with  the  most 
skilful  aurists,  were  powerless  to  help. 

"  How  miserable  my  future  life  will  be,"  he  exclaims, 
— "to  have  to  shun  all  that  is  most  dear  to  me!  Oh,  how 
happy  I  should  be  if  I  had  my  perfect  hearing  ;  but  as 
it  is,  my  best  years  will  fly  away  without  my  being  able 
to  do  all  that  my  talent  and  power  would  have  bid 
me  do.  I  can  say  that  I  spend  a  most  miserable  life ; 
for  two  years  I  have  been  shunning  all  society,  because 
I  find  it  impossible  to  tell  the  people  '  I  am  deaf.'  If  I 
were  of  any  other  profession,  this  deficiency  would  not 
be  felt,  but  with  my  music,  it  is  a  terrible  condition  to 


96  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

be  in.  Add  to  this,  my  enemies — not  a  few  in  number 
— what  will  they  say  to  it  ?  " 

In  the  theatre  he  had  to  lay  his  ears  close  to  the 
orchestra  in  order  to  understand  the  actors ;  and  the 
higher  notes  of  the  instruments  and  voices  he  could  not 
hear  at  all  when  only  a  little  distance  away.  ''  When 
in  conversation,"  he  says,  "  I  often  wonder  that  some 
people  never  get  acquainted  with  my  state,  but,  having 
much  amusement,  their  attention  is  drawn  away.  Some- 
times I  can  scarcely  hear  a  soft  speaker — I  hear  some 
sounds  but  no  words  ;  however,  as  soon  as  some  one 
screams  out  to  me — this  is  unbearable."  Who  can  gauge 
the  mental  anguish  of  a  musician  thus  tortured.  Read 
this :  "  He  softly  struck  a  full  chord.  Never  will  another 
so  woefully,  with  such  a  melancholy  effect,  pierce  my 
soul.  With  his  right  hand  he  held  the  chord  of  C  major, 
and  in  the  bass  he  struck  B,  looking  at  me  and  repeating 
— in  order  to  let  the  sweet  tone  of  his  piano  fully  come 
out — the  wrong  chord — and  the  greatest  musician  in 
the  world  did  not  hear  the  dissonance  !  "  These  are  the 
words  of  an  eye-witness,  written  in  the  year  1825.  The 
"  greatest  musician  in  the  world  "  struck  a  wrong  chord, 
and  he  had  no  hearing  to  acquaint  him  with  the  fact ! 

Several  efforts  were  made  by  the  surgeons  to  allevi- 
ate the  malady,  but  while  some  of  these  gave  a  little 
temporary  relief,  the  clouds  gathered  thicker  and  darker 
than  ever,  and  in  the  end  every  ray  of  hope  became 
obscured.  Need  we  be  surprised  that  Beethoven  took 
to  debating  with  himself  whether  life  was  really  worth 
living?    He  did  indeed  discuss  the  question  seriously 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  97 

in  his  own  mind,  and  it  was  only  after  a  keen  struggle 
that  virtue  and  art  prevailed.  "  I  will  meet  my  fate 
fearlessly,  and  it  shall  not  wholly  overwhelm  me,"  he 
said.  It  was  about  this  time  that  he  wrote  that  pitiful 
letter  to  his  brothers  which  was  to  be  opened  only 
after  his  death.  It  begins  :  *'  Oh,  ye  who  think  or 
declare  me  to  be  hostile,  morose,  and  misanthropical, 
how  unjust  you  are,  and  how  little  you  know  the  secret 
cause  of  what  appears  to  you  !  My  heart  and  mind 
were  ever  from  childhood  prone  to  the  most  tender  feel- 
ings of  affection,  and  I  was  always  disposed  to  accom- 
plish something  great.  But  you  must  remember  that 
six  years  ago  I  was  attacked  by  an  incurable  malady, 
aggravated  by  unskilful  physicians,  deluded  from  year 
to  year,  too,  by  the  hope  of  relief,  and  at  length  forced 
to  the  conviction  of  a  lasting  affliction." 

Proceeding  to  detail,  he  says  :  "  Alas  !  how  could  I 
proclaim  the  deficiency  of  a  sense  which  ought  to  have 
been  more  perfect  with  me  than  with  other  men  ?  Alas  ! 
I  cannot  do  this.  Forgive  me,  therefore,  when  you  see 
me  withdraw  from  you  with  whom  I  would  so  gladly 
mingle.  Completely  isolated,  I  only  enter  society  when 
compelled  to  do  so.  I  must  live  like  an  exile."  In  the 
country  he  was  thrown  into  the  deepest  melancholy. 
"  What  humiliation  when  any  one  beside  me  heard  a 
flute  in  the  far  distance,  and  I  heard  nothing ;  or  when 
others  heard  a  shepherd  singing,  and  I  heard  nothing. 
Such  things  brought  me  to  the  verge  of  desperation, 
and  well-nigh  caused  me  to  put  an  end  to  my  life. 
Art,  art  alone  deterred  me."    Was  there  ever  such  a 

H 


98  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

wail  of  despair  ?  "  I  joyfully  hasten  to  meet  death,"  he 
writes  at  another  time.  "  If  death  come  before  I  have 
had  the  opportunity  of  developing  my  artistic  powers, 
then,  notwithstanding  my  cruel  fate,  he  will  come  too 
early  for  me,  and  I  should  wish  for  him  at  a  more  distant 
period.  But  even  then  I  shall  be  content,  for  his  advent 
will  release  me  from  a  state  of  endless  suffering." 

In  that  birth-house  museum  at  Bonn  we  have  the 
most  melancholy  signs  of  Beethoven's  deafness.  There 
are  the  ear-trumpets  and  the  pianoforte  by  whose  help 
he  strove  so  long  and  so  hopelessly  to  remain  in  com- 
munion with  the  world  of  sound.  The  piano  was  made 
specially  for  him,  with  extra  strings.  So  long  as  he  could 
hear  a  tone,  Beethoven  used  this  instrument.  Then 
Maelzel,  the  metronome  man,  who  invented  and  made 
the  ear-trumpets  for  him,  built  a  resonator  for  the  piano. 
It  was  fixed  on  the  instrument  so  that  it  covered  a 
portion  of  the  sounding-board  and  projected  over  the 
keys.  *'  Seated  before  the  piano,  his  head  all  but  inside 
the  wooden  shell,  one  of  the  ear-trumpets  held  in  place 
by  an  encircling  brass  band,  Beethoven  would  pound 
upon  the  keys  till  the  strings  jangled  discordantly  with 
the  violence  of  the  percussion,  or  flew  asunder  with 
shrieks  as  of  mortal  despair."  Though  the  ear- trumpets 
had  been  useless  for  five  years,  they  were  kept  in  Beet- 
hoven's study  till  his  death.  Then  they  found  their  way 
into  the  Royal  Library  at  Berlin,  where  they  remained 
until  Emperor  William  II.  presented  them  to  the  Bonn 
collection. 

The  deafness  affected  Beethoven  in  other  than  pro- 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  99 

fessional  affairs.  Directly  or  indirectly,  it  prevented 
him  marrying,  as  he  had  wished  to  do.  As  a  young 
man  he  had  been  very  sensible  to  the  charms  of  female 
society.  Ladies  would  knit  him  comforters,  and  make 
him  light  puddings,  and  he  would  even  condescend  to 
lie  on  their  sofas  after  dinner  while  they  played  his 
sonatas.  His  early  friend  Wegeler  says  that  he  was 
never  without  a  love  affair ;  and  these  affairs  took,  in 
more  than  one  case,  the  serious  form  of  an  offer  of 
marriage.  But  no  bride  was  Beethoven  destined  to 
bring  to  the  altar.  Writing  to  his  pupil  Ries  in  18 16 
he  says  :  "  My  best  wishes  to  your  wife.  Unfortunately 
I  have  none.  I  found  One  only,  and  her  I  have  no 
chance  of  ever  calling  mine."  The  **one  only"  was 
most  likely  the  "  immortal  beloved  "  of  the  passionate 
letters  found  in  the  composer's  desk  after  his  death 
— the  beautiful  Giulietta,  Countess  Guicciardi,  to  whom 
the  so-called  "  Moonlight "  sonata  is  dedicated.  The 
Countess  married  a  Count  Gallenberg,  and  Beethoven 
said  of  the  marriage :  "  Heaven  forgive  her,  for  she 
did  not  know  what  she  was  doing  ! "  He  wrote  further  : 
"  I  was  much  loved  by  her — far  better  than  she  ever 
loved  her  husband."  But  Beethoven  was  poor,  in  bad 
health,  and — deaf;  and  marriage  in  his  case  was  out 
of  the  question.  One  does  not  fancy  that  he  would 
commend  himself  as  a  possible  husband.  A  man  who 
afterwards  threw  books  and  even  chairs  at  the  head  of 
a  stupid,  dishonest  servant,  was  a  trifle  too  tempestuous 
for  a  domestic  companion.  And,  indeed,  he  came  to 
realise  this  himself,  for  he  said  he  was  ''  excessively 


100  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

glad  that  not  one  of  the  girls  had  become  his  wife, 
whom  he  had  passionately  loved  in  former  days,  and 
thought  at  the  time  it  would  be  the  highest  joy  on 
earth  to  possess."   Alas  !  poor  Beethoven. 

And  this  may  serve  us  as  a  suggestion  for  intro- 
ducing some  details  of  Beethoven's  character  as  a  man, 
and  of  his  general  relations  towards  life  and  his  fellows. 
In  his  younger  years  he  was  rather  particular  about 
his  appearance.    Before  he  left  Bonn,   we  find  him 
wearing  a  sea-green   dress  coat,  green   short-clothes 
with  buckles,  silk  stockings,  white  flowered  waistcoat 
with  gold  lace,  white  cravat,  frizzed  hair  tied  in  a  queue 
behind,  and  a  sword.    When  he  went  first  to  Vienna 
he  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  sported  a  seal  ring, 
and  carried  a  double  eyeglass.    Later,  he  became  ex- 
tremely negligent  about   his  person.    An  artist  who 
painted  his  portrait  in  1815  described  him  as  wearing 
a  pale-blue  dress  coat  with  yellow  buttons,  white  waist- 
coat  and    necktie,  but   his  whole  aspect  bespeaking 
disorder.    Even  if  he  did  dress  neatly,  nothing  could 
prevent  him  removing  his  coat  if  it  were  warm,  not  even 
in  the  presence  of  princes  or  ladies.    Geniuses  are  gener- 
ally Bohemian,  often  outre.    Beethoven  was  no  excep- 
tion.   He  began  by  disdaining  to  have  his  hair  cut.    He 
wanted  a  servant,  and  one  applicant  mentioned  the 
accomplishment  of  hair-dressing.    "  It  is  no  object  to 
me   to  have  my  hair   dressed,"  growled    Beethoven. 
Remembering  the  characteristic  portraits,  one  agrees 
with  him.    Fancy  a  portrait  of  Beethoven  with  those 
fine  Jupiter  Olympus  locks  reduced  to  order ! 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  loi 

But  It  was  not  his  hair  only  that  he  refrained  from 
dressing  :  he  hardly  even,  as  we  would  say,  dressed 
himself.  When  Czerny  first  saw  him  in  his  rooms,  he 
found  him  clad  in  a  loose,  hairy  stuff,  which  made  him 
rather  more  like  Robinson  Crusoe  than  the  leading 
musician  in  Europe.  His  ears  were  filled  with  wool, 
which  he  had  soaked  in  some  yellow  substance ;  his 
beard  showed  more  than  half  an  inch  of  growth ;  and 
his  hair  stood  up  in  a  thick  shock  that  betokened  an 
unacquaintance  with  comb  and  brush  for  many  a  day. 
Moscheles  tells  that  he  could  not  be  made  to  under- 
stand clearly  why  he  should  not  stand  in  his  night- 
shirt at  the  open  window ;  and  when  he  attracted  a 
crowd  of  juveniles  by  this  eccentricity,  he  inquired  with 
perfect  simplicity  "  what  those  confounded  boys  were 
hooting  at." 

He  seems  to  have  been  rather  fond  of  the  open 
window,  for  he  generally  shaved  there.  He  **  cut  him- 
self horribly,"  according  to  one  biographer,  and  doing  it 
at  the  window  he  enabled  the  people  in  the  street  to 
share  in  the  diversion.  He  had  none  of  the  graces  of 
deportment  which  we  expect  from  the  modern  artist. 
It  was  dangerous  for  him  to  touch  anything  fragile, 
for  he  was  sure  to  break  it.  More  than  once,  in  a  fit 
of  passion,  he  flung  his  inkstand  among  the  wires  of 
the  piano.  He  had  a  habit,  when  composing,  of  pour- 
ing cold  water  over  his  hands,  and  the  people  below 
him  often  suffered  from  a  miniature  flood  in  conse- 
quence. When  he  first  arrived  in  Vienna  he  took 
dancing  lessons,  but,  curiously  enough  in  a  musician, 


102  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

could  never  dance  in  time.  He  was  absent-minded  to 
the  point  of  insanity.  Whether  he  dined  or  not  was 
immaterial  to  him,  and  there  is  one  authentic  instance 
of  his  having  urged  on  the  waiter  payment  for  a  meal 
which  he  had  neither  ordered  nor  eaten.  Somebody 
once  presented  him  with  a  horse,  but  he  forgot  all 
about  the  animal,  and  had  its  existence  recalled  to  him 
only  when  the  bill  for  its  keep  was  sent  in.  At  one 
time  he  forgot  his  own  name  and  the  date  of  his  birth  ! 
A  friend,  not  having  seen  him  for  days,  asked  if  he 
had  been  ill.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  but  my  boots  have,  and 
as  I  have  only  one  pair,  I  was  condemned  to  house 
arrest."  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  had  a  pair  for  every 
day  of  the  week,  though  he  forgot  all  about  that  too. 
He  was  in  perpetual  trouble  about  his  rooms  and 
his  servants.  He  would  flit  on  the  merest  pretext,  and 
usually  it  was  himself  who  was  in  fault.  He  had 
no  patience  with  any  sort  of  conventional  etiquette ; 
and  thus  it  often  happened  that  he  would  prefer 
the  discomforts  of  a  bachelor's  apartments  to  the  free 
and  luxurious  housing  offered  him  by  more  than  one 
noble  family.  Baron  Pronay  prevailed  upon  him  one 
summer  to  stay  with  him  at  Hetzendorf.  But  the 
Baron  persisted  in  raising  his  hat  to  him  whenever 
they  met,  and  Beethoven  was  so  annoyed  by  this  that 
he  took  up  his  lodgings  with  a  poor  clockmaker  near 
by.  He  seems  to  have  been  specially  opposed  to  this 
act  of  courtesy.  Once  when  he  was  walking  along  the 
street,  he  met  a  group  of  society  notables,  among 
whom  he  observed  a  particular  friend  of  his  own  ;  but 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  103 

the  revulsion  against  empty  formalities  was  so  strong 
in  him  that  he  kept  his  hat  tight  on  his  head  and 
passed  by  on  the  other  side. 

Every  lodging  turned  out  worse  than  its  pre- 
decessor. Either  the  chimneys  smoked,  or  the  rain 
came  through  the  roof,  or  the  chairs  were  rickety,  or 
the  doors  creaked  on  their  hinges,  or  something  else 
interfered  with  the  comfort  of  the  occupant.  And 
then  the  servants — oh,  the  servants  !  But  really  Beet- 
hoven was  over-exacting  here.  Nancy  might  indeed 
be  "  too  uneducated  for  a  housekeeper,"  but  surely  the 
fact  of  her  telling  a  lie  did  not  imply,  as  Beethoven 
said  it  implied,  that  she  could  not  make  good  soup. 
"The  cook's  off  again,"  he  tells  one  of  his  corre- 
spondents, who  could  hardly  be  surprised  at  the  news 
when  he  learned  that  Beethoven  had  punished  the 
cook  for  the  staleness  of  the  eggs  by  throwing  the 
whole  batch,  one  by  one,  at  her  head.  This  habit  of 
throwing  the  dishes  at  the  heads  of  domestics  who 
displeased  him  had  its  comic  aspect  for  the  onlookers, 
but  it  cannot  have  been  pleasant  for  the  domestics. 
And  the  waiters  suffered  too.  On  one  occasion  when 
he  was  dining  at  a  restaurant  the  waiter  brought  him 
a  wrong  dish.  Beethoven  had  no  sooner  uttered  some 
words  of  reproof  (to  which  the  offender  retorted  in  no 
very  polite  fashion)  than  he  took  the  dish  of  stewed 
beef  and  gravy  and  discharged  it  at  the  waiter's  head. 
The  poor  man  was  heavily  loaded  with  plates  full  of 
different  viands,  so  that  he  could  not  move  his  arms. 
The  gravy  meanwhile  trickled  down  his  face.    Both  he 


I04  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

and  Beethoven  swore  and  shouted,  while  the  rest  of 
the  party  roared  with  laughter.  At  last  Beethoven 
himself  joined  in  the  merriment  at  the  sight  of  the 
waiter,  who  was  hindered  from  uttering  any  more  in- 
vectives by  the  streams  of  gravy  that  found  their  way 
into  his  mouth. 

It  was  probably  after  the  cook  went  "  off  again  " 
that  Beethoven  determined  to  try  cooking  for  himself. 
Early  in  the  morning  he  went  off  to  the  market,  and 
the  astonished  neighbours  saw  him  return  home  with 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  piece  of  meat,  while  greens  and 
other  vegetables  peeped  out  of  the  pockets  of  his  over- 
coat. Now  for  a  time  he  left  off  playing  and  writing 
music,  and  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  a  popular 
cookery  book.  One  day,  when  he  thought  himself 
sufficiently  advanced  in  his  new  studies,  he  took  it  into 
his  head  to  invite  his  best  friends  to  a  dinner  prepared 
by  himself.  Everybody  was  naturally  curious  as  to  the 
result,  and  the  guests  were  punctual  to  the  minute. 
They  found  Beethoven  busy  in  the  kitchen  with  a 
nightcap  on  his  head  and  a  white  apron  before  him. 

After  considerable  waiting,  they  at  length  sat  down 
to  table.  The  composer  himself  was  the  waiter,  but  it 
is  impossible  to  picture  the  dismay  of  the  visitors  and 
the  horrors  of  that  meal.  A  soup  not  unlike  the  famous 
black  porridge  of  the  Spartans,  in  which  floated  some 
shapeless  and  nondescript  substances,  a  piece  of  boiled 
beef  as  tough  as  shoe-leather,  half-cooked  vegetables, 
a  roast  joint  burnt  to  a  cinder,  and  pudding  like  a  lump 
of  soapstone  swimming  in  train  oil — such  was  the 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN"  105 

Beethoven  dinner.  The  guests  were  unable  to  swallow 
a  morsel.  Beethoven  alone  ate  with  a  keen  appetite, 
praised  every  dish,  and  declared  that  the  whole  thing 
was  a  gigantic  success.  When  they  got  into  the  street 
two  hours  afterwards  with  empty  stomachs,  his  friends 
gave  vent  to  their  hilarity,  and  never,  we  may  be  sure, 
did  they  forget  that  Beethoven  dinner. 

The  composer's  behaviour  to  his  pupils,  even  to 
ladies,  was  often  atrocious.  He  would  sometimes  tear 
the  music  in  shreds,  and  scatter  it  on  the  floor,  or  even 
smash  the  furniture.  Once  when  an  aristocratic  pupil 
struck  a  wrong  note  he  fled  into  the  street  without 
taking  his  hat  from  the  hall.  If  he  did  consent  to  play 
in  company  he  must  have  perfect  silence  and  atten- 
tion. On  one  occasion  when  this  was  denied  him,  he 
rose  from  the  keyboard  declaring  that  he  would  no 
longer  play  for  "  such  hogs."  He  called  Prince  Lob- 
kowitz  an  ass,  and  he  called  Hummel  a  *'  false  dog." 
In  Mme.  Ertmann's  drawing-room  he  took  up  the 
snuffers  and  used  it  as  a  tooth-pick. 

As  a  conductor  he  was  little  more  use  than  to  raise 
a  laugh.  We  read  that  "  now  he  would  vehemently 
spread  out  his  arms  ;  then  when  he  wanted  to  indicate 
soft  passages,  he  would  bend  down  lower  and  lower 
until  he  disappeared  from  sight.  Then  as  the  music 
grew  louder  he  would  emerge,  and  at  the  fortissimo 
he  would  spring  up  into  the  air."  One  time  when  play- 
ing a  concerto  he  forgot  himself,  jumped  from  his  seat, 
and  began  to  conduct.  At  the  very  outset  he  knocked 
the  two  candles  from  the  piano.    The  audience  roared. 


io6  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Beethoven,  quite  beside  himself,  began  the  piece  again. 
The  director  now  stationed  a  boy  on  each  side  of  the 
piano  to  hold  the  candles.  The  same  scene  was  re- 
enacted.  One  of  the  boys  dodged  the  outstretched  arm ; 
the  other,  interested  in  the  music,  did  not  notice,  and 
received  the  full  blow  in  the  face,  falling  in  a  heap, 
candle  and  all !  *'  The  audience,"  says  Siegfried,  who 
conducted,  "  broke  out  into  a  truly  bacchanal  howl  of 
delight,  and  Beethoven  was  so  enraged  that  when  he 
started  again,  he  smashed  half  a  dozen  strings  at  a 
single  chord."  Such  was  this  Colossus  of  music  when 
he  lost  his  temper. 

But  he  had  a  sense  of  humour,  too,  and  now  and 
again  would  indulge  in  the  most  boyish  of  horse-play 
and  practical  jokes.  He  could  even  make  fun  of  his 
troubles  with  servants.  Writing  to  Holz  a  note  of  in- 
vitation to  dinner,  he  says :  "  Friday  is  the  only  day 
on  which  the  old  witch,  who  certainly  would  have 
burned  two  hundred  years  ago,  can  cook  decently, 
because  on  that  day  the  devil  has  no  power  over  her." 
In  one  letter  he  has  a  sly  dig  at  the  Vienna  musicians 
when  he  tells  of  having  made  a  certain  set  of  variations 
"  rather  difficult  to  play,"  that  he  may  "  puzzle  some 
of  the  pianoforte  teachers  here,"  who,  he  feels  sure,  will 
occasionally  be  asked  to  play  the  said  variations  !  He 
was  often  sarcastic  to  brother  artists  of  a  lesser  order. 
One  day  he  found  himself  in  the  company  of  Himmel, 
when  he  asked  Himmel  to  extemporise  on  the  piano. 
After  Himmel  had  played  for  some  time,  Beethoven 
suddenly  exclaimed :  "  Well,  when  are  you  going  to 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  107 

begin  in  good  earnest?"  Himmel,  who  had  no  mean 
opinion  of  his  own  powers,  naturally  started  up  in  a 
rage  ;  but  Beethoven  only  added  to  his  offence  by 
remarking  to  those  present  :  "  I  thought  Himmel 
had  just  been  preluding."  In  revenge  for  this  insult, 
Himmel  shortly  after  played  Beethoven  a  trick.  Beet- 
hoven was  always  eager  to  have  the  latest  news  from 
Berlin,  and  Himmel  took  advantage  of  this  curiosity 
to  write  to  him  :  "  The  latest  piece  of  news  is  the  in- 
vention of  a  lantern  for  the  blind."  Beethoven  was  com- 
pletely taken  in  by  the  childish  joke,  repeated  it  to  his 
acquaintances,  and  wrote  to  Himmel  to  demand  full 
particulars  of  the  remarkable  invention.  The  answer 
received  was  such  as  to  bring  both  the  correspondence 
and  the  friendship  to  a  close.  Beethoven  never  enjoyed 
a  joke  at  his  own  expense. 

In  this  respect  he  did  not  always  do  to  others  as  he 
would  have  others  do  to  him.  A  certain  lady  admirer 
was  very  anxious  to  have  a  lock  of  Beethoven's  hair. 
A  common  friend  undertook  to  approach  the  master 
on  the  subject,  and  the  result  was  that  Beethoven  sent 
a  tuft  of  hair  cut  from  a  goat's  beard  !  The  lady  was 
overjoyed  at  possessing  her  treasure,  but,  unfortun- 
ately, the  secret  soon  leaked  out.  Her  husband  wrote 
a  letter  of  expostulation  to  Beethoven,  who,  conscious 
of  his  offence,  at  once  cut  off  a  lock  of  his  own  hair, 
and  enclosed  it  in  a  note  in  which  he  asked  the  lady's 
forgiveness  for  what  had  occurred.    Even  when  he  was 

o 

dying  his  sense  of  humour  did  not  forsake  him.    When 
he  had  to  be  ''  tapped,"  he  remarked  to  the  doctor : 


io8  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

"  Better  water  from  the  body  than  from  the  pen."  Two 
days  before  his  death,  Schindler,  one  of  his  biographers, 
who  was  then  with  him,  wrote  to  a  friend  :  "  He  feels 
that  his  end  is  near,  for  yesterday  he  said  to  Breuning 
and  me  :  '  Clap  your  hands,  friends  ;  the  play  is  over.' 
He  advances  towards  death  with  really  Socratic  wisdom 
and  unexampled  equanimity." 

And  what  a  weary,  tragic  advance  it  had  been,  all 
these  years  !  From  the  time  of  his  deafness  onwards, 
he  was  constantly  adding  to  the  world's  stores  of  the 
highest  and  best  in  music,  and  the  legacy  we  now 
enjoy  as  the  result  of  his  genius  is  the  most  universal 
gift  of  music  that  has  ever  come  from  human  hand 
and  human  head.  The  years,  as  they  passed,  brought 
nothing  very  eventful;  and  in  December  1826  Beet- 
hoven found  himself  on  a  sick-bed,  in  great  poverty, 
and  unable  to  compose  a  single  line.  On  the  afternoon 
of  March  26,  1827,  he  was  seized  with  his  last  mortal 
faintness.  "  Thick  clouds  were  hanging  about  the  sky  ; 
outside,  the  snow  lay  on  the  ground  ;  towards  evening 
the  wind  rose ;  at  nightfall  a  terrific  thunderstorm 
burst  over  Vienna,  and  whilst  the  storm  was  still  raging, 
the  spirit  of  the  sublime  master  departed."  He  died  in 
his  fifty-seventh  year,  and  was  buried  in  the  cemetery 
of  Wahring,  near  Vienna. 

It  was  generally  felt  that  a  man  of  the  most  power- 
ful character  and  of  unique  genius  had  been  lost  to  the 
world.  And  yet,  to  the  public  of  that  day,  his  music 
was  not  a  tithe  of  what  it  is  to  us  now.  Nay,  we 
can  say  more  than  that,  for  Beethoven  is  one  of  the 


THE  DEAF  BEETHOVEN  109 

few  creators  of  art  whom  one,  ever  so  blessed  with 
musical  intelligence,  may  study  for  a  lifetime  and  never 
exhaust.  Beethoven  speaks  a  language  no  composer 
before  him  had  spoken,  and  treats  of  things  no  one  had 
dreamt  of  before.  Yet  it  seems  as  if  he  were  speaking 
of  matters  long  familiar  in  one's  mother  tongue — as 
though  he  touched  upon  emotions  one  had  lived 
through  in  some  former  existence.  The  warmth  and 
depth  of  his  ethical  sentiment  is  now  felt  all  the  world 
over,  and  it  will  ere  long  be  universally  recognised  that 
he  has  leavened  and  widened  the  sphere  of  human 
emotions  in  a  manner  akin  to  that  in  which  the  con- 
ceptions of  great  philosophers  and  poets  have  widened 
the  sphere  of  men's  intellectual  activity. 

Beethoven  might  be  described  as  the  Carlyle  of 
music.  Wagner  said  of  him  that  he  faced  the  world 
with  a  defiant  temperament,  and  kept  an  almost  savage 
independence.  Like  Carlyle,  he  detested  sham,  and 
humbug,  and  conventionality  above  all  things.  He 
believed  that  "  a  man's  a  man  for  a'  that,"  whether  he 
be  prince  or  plebeian,  so  that  he  be  honest,  and  true, 
and  good.  There  is  a  capital  story  of  him  in  connection 
with  the  visit  of  a  bumptious,  ignorant  brother  who  had 
amassed  a  fortune  and  purchased  a  fine  estate.  The 
brother  had  called  when  Beethoven  was  from  home,  and 
had  left  a  card  inscribed  "  Johann  van  Beethoven,  Land 
Proprietor."  This  enraged  the  composer,  who  simply 
wrote  on  the  other  side,  "Ludwig  van  Beethoven,  Brain 
Proprietor,"  and  returned  the  card  without  comment. 

Of  Beethoven's  personal  appearance  we  have  several 


no  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

descriptions.  Thayer,  his  leading  biographer,  says  he 
was  small  and  insignificant-looking,  dark-complex- 
ioned, pock-marked,  black-eyed,  and  black-haired. 
The  hair  was  luxuriant,  and  when  he  walked  in  the 
wind  it  gave  him  "  a  truly  Ossianic  and  demoniac 
appearance."  His  fingers  were  short  and  nearly  all 
of  the  same  length.  One  lady  said  his  forehead  was 
"heavenly."  Another  once  pointed  to  it  and  exclaimed : 
"  How  beautiful,  how  noble,  how  spiritual  that  brow  ! " 
Beethoven  was  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  said  : 
"  Well,  then,  kiss  this  brow."  Which  she  did.  But  per- 
haps the  best  description  is  that  of  Sir  Julius  Benedict, 
who  met  Beethoven  in  1823.  Sir  Julius  writes  :  "  Who 
could  ever  forget  those  striking  features  ?  The  lofty 
vaulted  forehead,  with  thick  grey  and  white  hair  en- 
circling it  in  the  most  picturesque  disorder  ;  that  square 
lion's  nose,  that  broad  chin,  that  noble  and  soft  mouth. 
Over  the  cheeks,  seamed  with  scars  from  the  smallpox, 
was  spread  high  colour.  From  under  the  bushy,  closely- 
compressed  eyebrows  flashed  a  pair  of  piercing  eyes. 
His  thick-set  Cyclopean  figure  told  of  a  powerful  frame." 
But  who  does  not  know  that  rugged-looking  figure, 
which  reminded  Weber  of  King  Lear  ?  Truly  a  noble 
face,  with  "  a  certain  severe  integrity  and  passionate 
power  and  lofty  sadness  about  it,  seeming  in  its  eleva- 
tion and  wideness  of  expression  to  claim  kindred  with 
a  world  of  ideas  out  of  all  proportion  to  our  own."  In 
the  world's  portraiture  of  great  men  there  is  nothing 
exactly  like  it. 


FRANZ   SCHUBERT: 
THE    MASTER  OF   THE   LIED 

Schubert,  too,  wrote  for  silence  ;  half  his  work 
Lay  like  a  frozen  Rhine  till  summers  came 
That  warmed  the  grass  above  him.    Even  so 
His  music  lives  now  with  a  mighty  youth. 

George  Eliot. 

Liszt  called  Schubert  "  the  most  poetical  musician 
that  ever  was."  Schumann  was  equally  complimentary. 
He  said  that  "  Schubert's  pencil  was  dipped  in  moon- 
beams and  in  the  flame  of  the  sun."  Further,  that 
"  Schubert  has  tones  for  the  most  delicate  shades  of 
feeling,  thoughts,  even  accidents  and  occurrences  of  life. 
Manifold  though  the  passions  and  acts  of  men  may  be, 
manifold  is  Schubert's  music.  That  which  his  eye  sees, 
his  hand  touches,  becomes  transformed  to  music." 
These  tributes  are  the  more  significant  that  musicians 
are  so  seldom  complimentary  to  each  other. 

The  tributes  are  not  exaggerated  either.  And  that 
makes  us  think  the  more  how  pitiful  it  is  that  Schubert, 
like  Mozart,  should  have  such  a  pathetic  biography. 
''  My  music,"  he  once  said,  "  is  the  product  of  my  genius 
and  my  poverty,  and  that  which  I  have  written  in  my 
greatest  distress  is  what  the  world  seems  to  like  the 

III 


112  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

best."  Alas !  that  is  too  often  the  case.  As  the  poet 
has  said,  "  the  anguish  of  the  singer  makes  the  beauty 
of  the  strain."  No  doubt  if  Schubert  had  ordered  his 
life  more  regularly,  if  he  had  not  been  the  incorrigible 
Bohemian  that  he  was,  he  would  have  fared  better  in 
every  way.  But  in  that  case  we  might  not  have  had  all 
that  glorious  music  from  him. 

It  is  not  without  meaning  that  he  is  put  into  this 
book  after  Beethoven.  When  Schubert  was  in  his 
teens,  he  sighed  and  said :  "  Who  can  do  anything 
after  Beethoven  ?  "  Beethoven  is  usually  spoken  of  as 
Schubert's  contemporary,  but  he  was  Schubert's  senior 
by  twenty-seven  years.  Beethoven  had  achieved  fame 
before  Schubert  began  to  compose  at  all.  It  would  have 
been  no  wonder,  then,  if  a  mere  lad,  however  gifted, 
had  felt  somewhat  despairing,  especially  as  he  lived  in 
the  same  town  with  the  great  master,  and  was  always 
hearinghis  praises  sounded.  Butto  Schubert  Beethoven 
really  acted  as  a  stimulus.  A  sight  of  him  at  a  concert 
seems  to  have  made  a  great  and  lasting  impression  on 
the  younger  man,  who  not  long  after  dedicated  a  set 
of  pianoforte  variations  to  his  hero.  It  is  said  that,  shy 
as  he  was,  he  took  this  piece  to  Beethoven's  lodgings, 
hoping  for  an  interview,  but  whether  he  saw  Beethoven 
at  that  time  is  uncertain.  We  know  at  any  rate  that 
during  Beethoven's  last  illness  a  collection  of  Schubert's 
songs  was  placed  in  his  hands,  and  that  Beethoven, 
after  examining  them,  exclaimed  :  "  Truly,  Schubert 
possesses  the  divine  fire.  Some  day  he  will  make  a 
noise  in  the  world."   When  Beethoven's  death  was  just 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  113 

at  hand,  Schubert  stood  with  others  for  a  long  while 
round  his  bed.  The  invalid  was  told  the  names  of  his 
visitors,  and  made  feeble  signs  to  them  with  his  hands. 
Of  Schubert  he  said  :  ''  Franz  has  my  soul."  At  this 
Schubert  left  the  room  overcome  with  emotion,  for  his 
veneration  of  Beethoven  amounted  to  something  like 
worship.  Then,  at  the  funeral,  Schubert  was  one  of  the 
thirty-eight  torchbearers  who  stood  around  the  grave. 
After  the  interment,  he  adjourned  with  friends  to  a 
tavern,  where  he  filled  two  glasses  of  wine,  drinking  the 
first  to  the  memory  of  Beethoven,  and  the  second  to  the 
memory  of  him  who  should  soonest  follow  Beethoven 
to  the  grave.  "  Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the 
book  of  Fate,"  says  the  poet.  It  was  to  the  departure 
of  his  own  spirit,  little  as  he  can  have  suspected  it,  that 
Schubert  thus  drank,  for  in  less  than  two  years  he  was 
laid  in  that  same  cemetery  with  Beethoven,  the  two 
separated  by  only  three  graves. 

It  is  almost  superfluous  to  say  that  Franz  Schubert 
came  of  a  lowly  stock,  for  genius  seldom  flowers  in  high 
places.  His  grandfather  was  a  Moravian  peasant,  and 
his  father  was  an  assistant  in  a  village  school  when  he 
married  at  nineteen.  He  married  a  cook,  as  the  fathers 
of  Haydn  and  Beethoven  had  done.  There  were  four- 
teen children  of  the  marriage,  but  nine  of  them  died, 
leaving  four  sons  and  one  daughter.  The  sons  all 
became  teachers,  like  their  father,  and  the  daughter 
married  a  teacher. 

Franz  Schubert,  the  fourth  son  who  survived,  was 
born  on  January  31,  1797.    His  father  was  then  parish 

I 


114  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

schoolmaster  at  Lichtenthal,  a  suburb  of  Vienna.  He 
was  a  poor  man,  and  could  give  his  boy  nothing  more 
than  a  good  education.  ''  When  Franz  was  five  years 
old,"  he  wrote,  "  I  prepared  him  for  elementary  instruc- 
tion, and  at  six  I  sent  him  to  school.  He  was  always 
the  first  among  his  fellow-students."  Franz  showed  the 
ruling  passion  very  early,  and  his  father  was  able  to  help 
him  here  too.  He  ground  him  in  the  elements  of  music 
and  taught  him  the  violin  so  well  that  at  eight  he  could 
take  his  part  in  easy  duets. 

But  Franz  Schubert  was  one  of  those  rare  and  lucky 
individuals  who  seem  to  attain  without  any  effort  what 
costs  others  much  toil  and  trouble.  No  instructor  could 
keep  pace  with  him.  Holzer,  the  parish  choirmaster, 
to  whom  he  was  sent  for  singing  lessons,  declared  many 
times,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  never  before  had 
such  a  pupil.  When  he  prepared  to  teach  him  anything, 
he  found  that  he  had  already  mastered  it.  "  He  has 
harmony  in  his  little  finger,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  claim 
to  have  given  him  any  lessons.  I  simply  talked  with 
him  and  looked  at  him  in  silent  amazement."  One  of 
his  brothers  started  to  teach  him  the  piano,  and  was 
himself  outstripped  within  a  month.  All  the  same, 
Schubert  was  never  a  good  pianist,  any  more  than 
Wagner.  His  short,  stubby  fingers  were  not  made  for 
great  dexterity  on  the  keyboard.  He  once  attempted 
to  play  his  own  Fantaisie  (Op.  15)  to  some  friends. 
After  breaking  down  twice,  he  jumped  from  the  piano 
in  a  towering  rage,  exclaiming :  "  The  devil  himself 
couldn't  play  such  stuff."    When  he  did  play,  however, 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  115 

he  played  with  wonderful  expression — niade  the  piano 
sing  like  a  bird,  as  some  one  said. 

There  could  be  only  one  future  for  such  a  boy.  He 
had  a  lovely  treble  voice,  and  so  gained  an  easy  entry 
into  the  parish  church  choir,  where,  at  the  age  of  eleven, 
he  was  both  solo  singer  and  solo  violin.  Then,  in  1808, 
his  father  got  him  a  place  in  the  choir  school  of  the 
Imperial  Chapel,  where  he  received  a  general  as  well  as 
a  musical  education.  The  other  boy  candidates,  seeing 
the  fat,  awkward  little  fellow,  in  his  light-grey  homespun 
suit,  took  him  for  a  miller's  son  and  made  fun  of  him. 
But  they  repented  of  their  impertinence  when  the 
examiners  called  him  up,  and  his  clear  pure  voice  rang 
out  in  the  well-known  tunes. 

Schubert's  musical  opportunities  were  now  im- 
mensely improved.  There  was  a  small  orchestra  in 
the  choir  school,  and  by  its  performances  he  gradually 
became  acquainted  with  the  works  of  the  great  masters. 
At  the  very  first  practice  he  attracted  the  notice  of  the 
leader,  Von  Spaun.  Spaun  heard  behind  him  a  violin 
being  played  with  unusual  distinction,  and  on  turning 
round  saw  a  little  chap  in  spectacles.  The  two  had  a 
talk  at  the  end  of  the  rehearsal.  "  I  sometimes  compose 
music,  but  I  cannot  afford  to  buy  paper  ;  do  you  think 
you  could  help  me?"  said  Schubert  to  Spaun.  Spaun 
brought  him  some  paper  next  day,  and  promised  him 
more.  He  little  thought  what  he  was  letting  himself 
in  for.  At  this  time,  and  indeed  all  through  his  brief 
career,  Schubert's  consumption  of  music  paper  was 
something  perfectly  phenomenal. 


ii6  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Just  now  he  badly  needed  other  things  besides 
music  paper.  A  boys'  school  was  not  a  paradise  in 
those  days,  even  if  the  uniform  was  decorated  with 
gold  lace.  The  youths  were  poorly  fed,  and  Schubert 
had  a  hearty  appetite,  with  no  money  to  supplement 
the  school  fare.  It  is  pathetically  amusing  to  read  his 
plaints.  Look,  for  instance,  at  the  following  letter  to 
his  brother  Ferdinand  :  '*  You  know  by  experience 
that  a  fellow  would  like  at  times  a  roll  and  an  apple  or 
two,  especially  if,  after  a  frugal  dinner,  he  has  to  wait 
for  a  meagre  supper  for  eight  hours  and  a  half.  The 
few  groschen  that  I  receive  from  my  father  are  always 
gone  to  the  devil  the  first  day,  and  what  am  I  to  do 
afterwards  ?  *  Those  who  hope  will  not  be  confounded,' 
says  the  Bible,  and  I  firmly  believe  it.  Suppose,  for 
instance,  you  send  me  a  couple  of  kreutzer  a  month  ; 
I  don't  think  you  would  notice  the  difference  in  your 
own  purse,  and  I  should  live  quite  content  and  happy 
in  my  cloister.  St.  Matthew  says  also  that,  '  Whoso- 
ever hath  two  coats  shall  give  one  to  the  poor.'  In  the 
meantime  I  trust  you  will  lend  your  ear  to  the  voice 
crying  to  you  incessantly  to  remember  your  poor 
brother  Franz,  who  loves  and  confides  in  you."  Let 
us  hope  that  Ferdinand,  who  was  a  good  fellow,  gave 
him  what  he  asked  for. 

If  Schubert  was  suffering  physical  hunger,  he  was 
at  least  getting  his  musical  hunger  fairly  appeased. 
Very  soon  the  school  concert  programmes  were  being 
made  up  almost  entirely  of  his  works.  Recitals  of  his 
music  were   frequently  given  in  his  home,  too,  for 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  117 

brothers  and  father  all  played.  His  ear  was  quick  to 
detect  an  error,  and  he  would  say,  with  a  modest 
smile :  "  Herr  Vater,  you  must  be  making  a  mistake 
there."  He  was  sent  for  harmony  lessons  to  a  musician 
named  Rucziszka.  But  here  again  the  old  story  was 
repeated.  Rucziszka  soon  discovered  that  his  pupil 
knew  more  than  himself  "  God  has  been  his  teacher," 
he  said.  Then  he  went  to  Salieri,  an  Italian  musician 
who  conducted  the  Imperial  choir.  Salieri  had  been 
intimate  with  Mozart,  and  was  falsely  accused  of 
poisoning  him.  Schubert  continued  his  lessons  with 
Salieri  for  a  long  time.  But  Salieri,  too,  was  astounded 
at  his  natural  cleverness.  "  Schubert  can  do  every- 
thing," he  exclaimed.  ''  He  is  a  genius.  He  composes 
songs,  masses,  operas,  string  quartets,  in  fact  anything 
you  like."   And  so  he  did. 

At  the  choir  school  he  neglected  his  general  educa- 
tion altogether  in  favour  of  music.  His  voice  broke  in 
181 3,  and  then,  refusing  an  offer  of  further  instruction 
in  the  higher  branches  of  learning,  he  left  the  school, 
and  faced  the  world,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  with  an  income 
to  make  for  himself.  Music  was  not  to  be  thous^ht 
of  as  a  profession  just  yet,  for  Schubert  wanted  to  be 
a  composer,  and  publishers  would  not  pay  for  works 
by  an  untried  hand.  So  Schubert  went  back  to  his 
father's  house  and  became  his  father's  assistant — 
another  Schubert  schoolmaster.  Perhaps  in  taking 
this  course  he  desired  to  escape  service  in  the  army, 
from  which  the  teaching  profession  was  exempt.  In 
any   case,   three   years  of  school    work    sufficed    for 


ii8  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Schubert.  lie  performed  his  duties  regularly  and  con- 
scientiously, but  the  drudgery  was  unspeakably  irk- 
some to  him.  He  was  a  nervous,  irritable  teacher,  and 
dull  or  obstinate  children  suffered  severely  at  his  hands. 
Even  for  teaching  music  he  was  not  suited  by  either 
temperament  or  training,  but  at  least  he  did  not  break 
up  the  chairs  as  Beethoven  did,  or,  like  Chopin,  when 
things  went  wrong,  start  up  and  ask  if  a  dog  had  been 
barking. 

Circumstances  like  those  we  have  been  considering 
would  not  seem  highly  favourable  for  the  fertilising 
of  musical  inspiration.  But  it  is  a  fact  that  as  a  com- 
poser Schubert  was  as  prolific  when  he  was  toiling 
away  in  his  father's  school  as  at  any  period  of  his  life. 
It  was  then  that  he  wrote  some  of  his  finest  songs,  and 
there  were  also  dramatic  works,  masses,  symphonies, 
and  miscellaneous  pieces  in  sufficient  number  to  have 
served  as  the  life  work  of  any  ordinary  artist.  It  was 
now  that  he  composed  the  song  which  first  made  his 
name  famous — the  "  Erl  King."  Schubert  had  a  per- 
fect passion  for  German  poetry,  and  set  Schiller  and 
Goethe  with  a  prodigality  truly  marvellous.  Somebody 
once  said  of  him  that  if  he  had  lived  longer  he  would 
have  set  the  whole  of  German  literature  to  music. 

The  story  of  the  "  Erl  King "  is  worth  telling. 
Seated  one  afternoon  in  his  little  room,  Schubert  found 
himself  deep  in  the  study  of  a  volume  of  Goethe.  He 
came  to  the  "  Erl  King,"  and  as  he  read,  every  line 
of  the  words  seemed  to  flow  into  strange  unearthly 
music.    The  rushing  sound  of  the  wind  and  the  terrors 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  119 

of  the  enchanted  forest  were  instantly  changed  for 
him  into  realities,  and  seizing  a  pen  he  dashed  down 
the  song,  as  we  have  it  now,  in  less  time  than  an 
expert  would  take  to  make  a  "  fair  "  copy  of  it.  And 
here  is  as  fitting  a  place  as  any  other  to  say  that 
Schubert  was  prodigiously  quick  at  composition. 
Handel,  Bach,  Mozart,  and  Haydn  wrote  with  ex- 
treme rapidity,  but  nothing  like  Schubert.  His  ideas 
flowed  faster  than  he  could  set  them  down.  He  had 
to  read  a  poem  only  once  or  twice  and  its  appropriate 
musical  expression  came  to  him  without  further  effort. 
The  biographers  cite  his  record  for  181 5  in  illustration. 
That  year  he  wrote  half  a  dozen  dramatic  works,  two 
masses,  two  symphonies,  a  quantity  of  church  and 
chamber  music,  and  nearly  150  songs.  In  one  day 
alone  he  composed  seven  songs.  Think  of  the  mere 
labour  of  transferring  all  that  to  music  paper.  No 
wonder  Schubert  sometimes  failed  to  recognise  his 
own  work.  There  is  a  story  about  a  vocalist  who  once 
tried  over  a  Schubert  song  in  the  composer's  presence. 
"  H'm  !  pretty  good  song ;  who  wrote  it?"  he  asked. 
And  he  wrote  anywhere,  too.  Thus,  he  wrote  his 
beautiful  morning  song,  "  Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark,"  on 
the  back  of  a  bill  of  fare,  amid  all  the  stir  and  clatter 
of  a  Viennese  outdoor  restaurant. 

The  "  Erl  King"  was  sung  for  the  first  time  in 
public  in  February  18 19.  Schubert  had  been  trying 
to  get  a  publisher  for  it,  but  the  publishers  would  not 
look  at  it.  The  accompaniment  was  too  difficult,  they 
said,  and    the  composer  was   almost    unknown.     At 


120  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

length  the  song  was  printed  by  subscription  and  pub- 
lished on  commission.  A  hundred  copies  were  sub- 
scribed for  beforehand,  and  in  nine  months  800  copies 
were  sold. 

This  success  proved  the  "entering  wedge"  for 
Schubert.  Publishers  now  began  to  have  some  faith 
in  the  composer.  He  went  on  writing,  and  several  of 
his  songs  sold  well.  Had  he  been  wise,  he  might  now 
have  laid  in  a  little  fortune  for  himself.  But  he  foolishly- 
parted  with  his  compositions  for  the  most  trivial  sums. 
He  gave  one  publisher  over  seventy  songs,  including 
*'  The  Wanderer,"  for  8cxD  florins,  and  the  firm,  between 
1822  and  1 86 1,  realised  over  2700  florins  from  "The 
Wanderer"  alone.  Some  of  the  glorious  songs  in  the 
"  Winterreise,"  composed  in  1826,  were  actually  thrown 
away  for  less  than  a  shilling  apiece.  In  1828  he  got 
only  thirty  florins  for  a  piano  quintet,  and  only  twenty- 
one  florins  for  his  splendid  Trio  in  E  flat. 

There  is  a  well-known  anecdote  bearing  on  this 
Mozart-like  helplessness  and  carelessness  in  business 
matters.  One  of  Schubert's  boon  companions  was 
Franz  Lachner,  afterwards  music  director  at  the  Court 
of  Munich.  Lachner  took  advantage  of  a  fine  summer 
morning  to  ask  Schubert  to  join  a  party  of  friends  who 
were  going  to  make  a  trip  into  the  country.  Schubert 
wished  very  much  to  accept,  but  having  no  money, 
had  to  refuse.  Lachner  being  also  hard  up,  it  made 
the  case  very  embarrassing.  So  Schubert  gave  Lachner 
a  portfolio  of  manuscript  songs,  asking  him  to  sell 
them  ;  for,  he  added,  he  had  been  so  often  to  the  pub- 


SCHUBERT 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  121 

Usher  that  he  dared  not  go  again.  The  publisher  proved 
very  angry,  exclaiming,  "More  of  Schubert's  stuff!" 
and  stating  very  seriously  that  no  one  would  buy 
Schubert's  songs.  Finally,  however,  he  gave  way,  and 
bought  all  the  manuscripts  for  five  florins !  Very 
happy,  the  two  friends  went  on  their  trip,  and  finding 
a  spinet  at  the  inn  at  which  they  stopped,  Schubert 
improvised  some  more  songs,  of  which  he  received 
the  inspiration  on  the  road.  This  was  Franz  Schubert 
all  over. 

But  we  must  get  back  to  our  narrative.  We  are  to 
consider  Schubert  liberated  from  school  drudgery.  This 
he  owed  directly  to  a  young  Swede  of  some  means, 
Franz  von  Schober,  who  invited  Schubert  to  come  and 
live  with  him,  and  pursue  his  art  freely  and  uninter- 
ruptedly. Schober  was  the  best  and  most  useful  patron 
he  ever  had.  How  happy  he  felt  himself  now  may  be 
gathered  from  a  letter  he  addressed  to  his  brother 
Ignaz,  who  was  chafing  under  his  toils  as  a  teacher. 
Ignaz  wrote  in  reply :  "  You  fortunate  man !  How 
you  are  to  be  envied  !  You  live  in  a  sweet  golden 
freedom  ;  can  give  your  musical  genius  free  rein,  can 
express  your  thoughts  as  you  please  ;  are  loved,  ad- 
mired, idolized,  while  the  rest  of  us  are  devoted,  like 
so  many  wretched  beasts  of  burden,  to  all  the  brutalities 
of  a  pack  of  wild  youth,  and,  moreover,  must  be  sub- 
servient to  a  thankless  public,  and  under  the  thumb 
of  a  stupid  priest." 

Schober  was  able  to  introduce  Schubert  to  several 
influential  artists,  who  were  likely  to  be  of  use  to  him 


122  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  bringing  his  compositions  before  the  world.  Most 
notable  among  them  was  the  baritone  singer  Vogl, 
who  did  much  to  popularise  his  lieder.  Another  help- 
ful friend  was  the  poet  Mayrhofer,  who  wrote  the  words 
of  several  of  his  songs.  Mayrhofer  and  Schubert  lived 
together  for  two  years,  and  it  is  the  poet  (who,  by  the 
way,  became  insane,  and  committed  suicide)  who  tells 
us  how  they  lived.  "  It  was  in  a  gloomy  street.  House 
and  room  had  suffered  from  the  tooth  of  time ;  the 
roof  was  somewhat  sunken,  the  light  cut  off  by  a  great 
building  opposite ;  a  played-out  piano,  a  small  book- 
case— such  was  the  room  which,  with  the  hours  we 
spent  there,  can  never  pass  from  my  memory." 

Schubert  was  quite  happy,  even  under  these  seem- 
ingly uncongenial  conditions.  Still,  he  was  not  making 
money;  so  when,  in  1818,  he  was  offered  the  post  of 
music-master  in  the  house  of  Count  John  Esterhazy, 
of  the  family  whom  Haydn  had  served,  he  eagerly 
accepted  it.  This  meant  a  winter  home  in  Vienna  and 
a  summer  home  in  Hungary.  But  Schubert  was  a  town 
man,  and  he  liked  being  away  from  Vienna  as  little 
as  Dr.  Johnson  liked  being  away  from  Fleet  Street. 
However,  he  found  compensations  even  in  the  country. 
Thus  he  writes  of  the  household  in  which  he  is  en- 
gaged:  "The  cook  is  rather  jolly;  the  ladies' -maid 
is  thirty ;  the  housemaid  very  pretty,  often  quite  social ; 
the  nurse  a  good  old  soul ;  the  butler  my  rival.  The 
Count  is  rather  rough  ;  the  Countess  haughty,  yet  with 
a  kind  heart ;  the  Countesses  nice  girls."  The  Count- 
esses were  his  young  pupils.   It  is  said  that  he  cherished 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  123 

a  hidden  passion  for  the  youngest,  Caroline,  a  girl  of 
eleven  when  he  first  knew  her. 

Schubert  was  never  a  ladies'  man,  and  this  is  the 
only  affair  of  the  heart  in  which  he  was  concerned.  It 
is  rather  curious,  considering  that  he  had  the  poetic  and 
imaginative  qualities  so  profusely  developed.  But  then 
he  was  so  awkward  and  so  shy ;  and,  besides  that,  he 
was  not  personally  attractive.  His  leading  biographer 
says  he  was  under  the  average  height,  round-backed 
and  round-shouldered,  with  plump  arms  and  hands. 
He  had  a  round  and  puffy  face,  low  forehead,  thick 
lips,  bushy  eyebrows,  and  a  short,  turned  -  up  nose. 
His  eyes  were  fine,  but  they  were  hidden  by  spectacles, 
which  he  wore  even  in  bed.  What  hope  could  such  a 
man  have  of  winning  fair  lady,  and  a  Countess,  too, 
no  less  ?  Of  course  Caroline  Esterhazy  could  not  marry 
a  poor  musician  in  any  case.  But  it  is  clear  that,  as 
she  grew  up,  she  came  to  realise  something  of  Schu- 
bert's feelings  toward  her.  She  once  asked  him  why 
he  did  not  dedicate  one  of  his  compositions  to  her. 
"  What  would  be  the  use  ? "  he  said.  "  All  that  I  do  is 
dedicated  to  you."  The  old  flame  kept  burning  in  his 
heart  to  the  last,  but  Caroline  Esterhazy  soon  forgot. 

Schubert's  connection  with  the  Esterhazys  continued 
intermittently  for  several  years.  His  material  needs 
were  fairly  satisfied  ;  but  his  professional  prospects 
somehow  refused  to  brighten.  True,  his  songs  were 
making  an  impression  ;  but  he  wanted  to  do  bigger 
things — operas,  and  symphonies,  and  the  like — and  mer- 
cenary managers  and  publishers  would  venture  nothing 


124  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

unless  assured  of  a  substantial  profit.  Naturally  jovial 
and  optimistic,  Schubert  was  not  easily  cast  down,  but 
ill-luck,  combined  with  a  monotonous  existence,  at 
length  weighed  on  his  spirits  and  hurt  his  health.  "  I 
feel  myself  the  most  unhappy,  the  most  miserable  man 
on  earth,"  he  writes  ;  "  a  man  whose  most  brilliant 
hopes  have  come  to  nothing  ;  whose  enthusiasm  for 
the  beautiful  threatens  to  vanish  altogether."  He  de- 
clares that  he  goes  to  sleep  every  night,  hoping  never 
to  waken  again.  In  one  letter  he  says :  "  Picture  to 
yourself  a  man  whose  health  can  never  be  re-established, 
who  from  sheer  despair  makes  matters  worse  instead 
of  better  ;  picture  to  yourself,  I  say,  a  man  whose  most 
brilliant  hopes  have  come  to  nothing,  to  whom  the  happi- 
ness of  proffered  love  and  friendship  is  but  anguish, 
whose  enthusiasm  for  the  beautiful  (an  inspired  feel- 
ing at  least)  threatens  to  vanish  altogether,  and  then 
ask  yourself  if  such  a  condition  does  not  represent  a 
miserable  and  unhappy  man?"  Beethoven  used  to 
write  like  that,  too,  but  though  his  condition  was  more 
pitiable,  he  bore  his  misfortunes  with  more  dignity.  He 
still  retained  faith  in  his  art,  and  that  sustained  him. 

Nothing  occurred  for  a  time  to  mark  the  course  of 
Schubert's  life  beyond  the  appearance  of  fresh  com- 
positions. He  made  applications  for  several  fixed 
appointments,  but  was  always  defeated.  Even  if  he  had 
been  successful,  it  is  doubtful  if  his  inherent  love  of 
change,  his  independent  spirit,  and  his  free  untutored 
manner  would  have  allowed  him  to  keep  a  routine  post 
for  any  length  of  time.    In  any  case,  it  mattered  little 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  125 

now,  for  the  end  was  approaching.  The  old  experience 
was  about  to  be  repeated.  Publishers  were  becoming 
more  pleasant  and  encouraging,  and  money  was  com- 
ing in  a  little  more  freely.    But  it  was  too  late. 

In  1827  Beethoven  died,  and  we  have  seen  what 
was  Schubert's  part  in  that  connection.  One  evening 
in  the  October  of  1828,  when  supping  with  some  friends 
at  a  tavern,  he  suddenly  threw  down  his  knife  and  fork, 
protesting  that  the  food  tasted  like  poison.  His  nerves 
had  become  overstrained,  the  constitution  was  under- 
mined. They  got  him  home,  and  he  took  to  his  bed, 
feeling,  as  he  said,  no  actual  pain,  but  great  weakness 
and  depression.  Shortly  after,  he  wrote  to  his  kind 
friend  Schober :  "  I  am  ill.  I  have  neither  eaten  nor 
drunk  anything  for  eleven  days,  and  shift,  weak  and 
weary,  from  my  chair  to  my  bed  and  back  again." 
This  could  not  last.  The  illness  assumed  a  graver 
form,  and  there  was  a  consultation  of  doctors.  "  What 
is  going  to  happen  to  me  ? "  he  plaintively  asked  his 
brother  Ferdinand.  Delirium  set  in.  He  imagined  that 
Beethoven  was  in  the  room  ;  then  he  imagined  that  his 
quarters  were  changed,  and  he  was  miserable  because 
Beethoven  was  not  there.  Then,  temporarily  recover- 
ing his  senses,  he  turned  to  the  doctor  and  said,  slowly 
and  earnestly,  "  Here  is  my  end."  With  that  he  shifted 
in  bed,  turning  his  face  to  the  wall.  And  so,  on  the  19th 
of  November  1828,  this  greatest  of- lyric  geniuses  went 
out  into  the  Eternal  Silence,  dead  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-one. 

What  followed  is  almost  too  sad  to  tell.    It  is  cal- 


126  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

culated  that  Schubert  had  never  made  more  than  ;^I00 
a  year.  At  any  rate,  he  died  leaving  not  enough  to  pay 
the  expenses  of  his  funeral.  His  father  and  the  rest  of 
the  family  were  poor  enough  too.  It  cost  seventy  florins 
to  remove  the  body  to  Wahring  cemetery — "a  large 
sum,  a  very  large  sum,"  said  brother  Ferdinand,  "  but 
very  little  for  the  honour  of  Franz's  resting-place." 
Yes,  the  honour !  But  the  official  inventory  of  poor 
Schubert's  possessions  may  be  quoted  as  showing  how 
Vienna  and  the  world  had  repaid  him  for  his  priceless 
creations.  Here  it  is :  Three  dress  coats,  three  walk- 
ing coats,  ten  pairs  of  trousers,  nine  waistcoats,  one  hat, 
five  pairs  of  shoes,  three  pairs  of  boots,  four  shirts,  nine 
neckties  and  pocket  handkerchiefs,  thirteen  pairs  of 
socks,  one  towel,  one  sheet,  two  bed  cases,  one  mattress, 
one  bolster,  one  quilt.  At  the  end  of  the  inventory 
was  put  "  a  quantity  of  old  music  " — and  the  total 
value  was  set  down  at  fifty  shillings. 

It  is  suggestive,  as  Mr.  Joseph  Bennett  has  said,  to 
contrast  this  beggarly  account  with  the  honours  since 
laid  upon  Schubert's  tomb  and  hung  around  his 
memory.  Looking  at  the  large  space  now  filled  in  the 
world  by  the  man  who  died  worth  only  fifty  shillings, 
and  with  a  fame  that  scarcely  extended  beyond  Vienna, 
we  see  how  small  and  insignificant  a  part  of  the  real 
life  of  genius  is  that  which  we  call  life.  And  the  moral 
of  the  whole  is  this  : 

We  live  in  deeds,  not  years,  in  thoughts,  not  breaths, 
In  feelings,  not  in  figures  on  a  dial. 
We  should  count  time  by  heart  throbs.     He  most  lives 
Who  thinks  most,  feels  the  noblest,  acts  the  best  ! 


FRANZ  SCHUBERT  127 

Over  Schubert's  grave  are  inscribed  the  words  : 
"  Here  lies  buried  a  rich  treasure,  but  still  fairer  hopes  " 
— a  sentiment  only  half  true.  As  Schumann  said,  it 
was  enough  to  make  the  first  declaration  without  adding 
the  second.  For  some  reason  or  other  Schubert's  re- 
mains were  afterwards  disturbed,  the  Musical  Society 
having  obtained  permission  to  take  up  the  bones  of  both 
masters — Schubert  and  Beethoven — to  measure  them, 
and  phrenologists  were  called  in  to  feel  the  bumps. 
The  remains  were  afterwards  with  all  honour  carried 
through  the  streets  of  Vienna  in  pompous  procession 
— that  poor  man  who  could  not  afford  8d.  to  buy  a 
dinner  when  he  was  alive — and  buried  with  those  of 
Beethoven  and  quite  a  constellation  of  great  masters 
in  the  Central  Cemetery. 

Franz  Schubert  was  the  most  lovable  of  men,  and 
made  heaps  of  friends  in  his  own  class.  To  outsiders 
his  manner  was  shy  and  retiring,  awkward  almost  to 
clownishness.  He  did  not  invite  notice,  and  he  received 
little.  In  reply  to  a  lady's  apology  for  neglect  on  one 
occasion,  he  said  :  '*  It  is  nothing,  madame,  I  am  used 
to  it."  However  unattractive  his  exterior  may  have 
been,  the  spiritual  and  hidden  part  of  the  man  was 
nobly  and  abundantly  endowed.  There  was  in  him  a 
total  absence  of  jealousy  ;  he  had  a  sweet  temper,  was 
high-minded,  and  an  enthusiastic  worshipper  of  nature 
and  the  art  which  was  sacred  to  him.  He  had  some- 
thing of  the  boyishness  of  Mozart,  and  indulged  in 
many  juvenile  buffooneries.  For  instance,  he  would 
often  "sing"  the  '' Erl  King"  through  a  fine-toothed 


128  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

comb.  There  is  a  general  impression  that  he  drank  to 
excess,  but  the  world  is  too  prone  to  exaggerate  a 
failing  of  that  kind.  That  Schubert  was  devoted  to 
the  beer  jug  there  is  no  use  denying.  But  he  could 
never  be  called  a  drunkard.  The  weakness  was  entirely 
the  result  of  his  liking  for  genial  society  ;  and  it  can- 
not have  been  so  pronounced  after  all,  otherwise  he 
could  never,  in  his  short  life,  have  produced  the  enor- 
mous number  of  compositions  that  he  did. 

Assuming  that  he  began  writing  when  he  was  six- 
teen or  seventeen,  while  he  died  at  thirty-one  :  during 
that  time  he  filled  what  now,  in  his  complete  published 
works,  make  up  forty-one  folio  volumes,  including  the 
extraordinary  total  of  605  songs.  He  wrote  songs  by 
the  sheaf,  as  one  would  gather  corn  in  harvest.  But  he 
spread  himself  over  the  whole  range  of  his  art — operas, 
cantatas,  masses,  symphonies,  quartets,  chamber  music 
of  all  kinds.  Verily,  as  Schumann  said,  ''  he  has  done 
enough."  He  is,  beyond  all  question,  the  most  fertile 
and  original  melodist  that  ever  lived,  and  he  is  the 
first  of  the  great  song-writers  in  rank  as  well  as  in 
time.  The  German  folk-song  found  in  him  its  highest 
and  finest  ennoblement ;  through  him,  the  genuine 
German  native  singer,  came  the  ancient  folk-song  into 
life  again,  purified  and  transfigured  by  art. 


ROBERT   SCHUMANN: 
COMPOSER,  EDITOR,  AND  ESSAYIST 

Endeavour  to  play  easy  pieces  well  and  beautifully  ;  that  is 
better  than  to  play  difficult  pieces  indifferently  well.  When  you 
play,  never  mind  who  listens  to  you.  Play  always  as  if  in  the 
presence  of  a  master. — Schumann. 

The  year  1809  has  been  called  a  wonderful  birth  year. 
And  so  it  was,  for  it  gave  us  Tennyson  and  Mendels- 
sohn and  Darwin  and  Edgar  Allan  Poe  and  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  and  Mrs.  Browning  and  Gladstone 
and  Abraham  Lincoln.  But  the  years  1810  and  181 1 
were  not  less  remarkable,  in  the  history  of  music  at 
least.  During  that  period,  Chopin,  Liszt,  Heller, 
Thalberg,  and  Henselt  were  all  born.  And  Robert 
Alexander  Schumann,  with  very  good  judgment,  made 
himself  one  of  the  distinguished  company  by  coming 
into  the  world  on  the  8th  of  June  18 10. 

The  birthplace  was  Zwickau,  a  quaint  little  town 
in  Saxony,  with  tall,  picturesque  houses,  and  broad, 
grass-grown  streets.  The  father  was  a  bookseller  and 
publisher  there.  He  was,  by  the  composer's  descrip- 
tion, "  a  very  active  and  intelligent  man,  noted  for  his 
pocket  edition  of  foreign  classics  ;  for  many  important 

129  K 


I30  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

business  works  ;  and  for  a  translation  of  several  of 
Byron's  poems,  published  shortly  before  his  death." 
He  educated  his  boy,  as  the  boy  himself  puts  it, 
"  lovingly  and  carefully."  But  unfortunately  he  and 
the  mother — the  mother  especially — had  set  their  hearts 
on  making  a  lawyer  of  him.  Thus,  though  Schumann 
early  showed  a  love  for  music,  his  studies  were 
checked  not  only  by  lack  of  home  sympathy,  but  by 
actual  hindrance.  Music  was  regarded  by  these  people 
as  "  a  precarious  living."  Schumann  had  a  very  tender 
regard  for  his  mother,  and  the  knowledge  that  the 
exercise  of  his  musical  talent  to  any  serious  purpose 
was  against  her  wish  proved  the  reverse  of  inspiring. 
Moreover,  such  law  studies  as  he  undertook  bent  his 
mind  somewhat  into  the  groove  which  studies  of  that 
kind  create.  He  could  not  be  wholly  uninfluenced  by 
their  narrowing  effect,  and  much  as  he  hated  them, 
they  contributed  to  the  suppression  of  his  emotional 
capabilities.  This  much  he  realised  himself  when  he 
wrote  that  the  law  turns  its  devotee  **  into  gristle  and 
freezes  him  into  ice,  so  that  no  follower  of  fancy  will 
any  longer  yearn  for  the  springtime  of  the  world." 

It  was  in  pursuance  of  bookseller  Schumann's 
idea  that  the  future  composer  was  sent  in  1828  to 
study  law  at  Leipzig  University.  The  intention  was 
that  he  should  later  complete  his  course  at  Heidelberg. 
But  before  this  could  be  fully  carried  out,  the  book- 
seller died,  and  the  embryo  lawyer,  who  had  been 
scribbling  music  more  or  less  from  his  twelfth  year, 
began  to  take  to  it  more  seriously.     Like  Wagner,  he 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  131 

had  shown  a  strong  tendency  towards  literature,  and 
wrote  blood  and  thunder  plays,  which  were  produced 
by  his  chums  under  his  direction.  He  wrote  poems, 
too,  some  of  which  he  subsequently  set  to  music. 
Further,  when  only  fourteen,  he  helped  his  father  to 
prepare  a  ''Picture  Gallery  of  the  most  Famous  Men  of 
all  Nations  and  Times."  In  all  this  we  already  see  the 
future  editor,  essayist,  and  letter-writer  ;  for  Schumann 
was  all  that,  in  addition  to  being  a  composer. 

At  any  rate,  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
the  law,  with  "  chilling  jurisprudence  "  and  its  "  ice-cold 
definitions."  That  was  his  final  decision,  arrived  at  while 
he  was  still  in  Leipzig.  He  hated  Leipzig.  "  Leipzig 
is  a  horrid  hole,  where  one  cannot  enjoy  life,"  he  said. 
"  It  is  far  easier  to  make  progress  in  the  art  of  spending 
money  than  in  the  lecture-rooms."  Apparently  money 
was  scarce  with  him  about  this  time,  though  later  on 
he  fell  heir  to  a  modest  competency,  which  relieved 
him  from  total  dependence  on  his  earnings  by  music. 
"  For  two  weeks  I  have  not  had  a  shilling,"  he  wrote 
one  November  day  to  his  mother.  "  I  owe  Wieck  20 
thalers,  and  Llihe  30,  and  I  am  actually  living  like  a 
dog."  His  hair  was  "  a  yard  long,"  yet  he  could  not 
afford  to  have  it  cut.  For  a  fortnight  he  had  been 
obliged  to  wear  white  cravats,  his  black  ones  were  so 
shabby.  His  piano  is  unbearably  out  of  tune.  He 
cannot  even  shoot  himself,  because  he  has  no  money 
to  buy  pistols. 

The  reference  to  Wieck  is  a  trifle  "  previous." 
Schumann  had  just  abandoned  the  law  when  he  fell 


132  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  with  Heinrich  Dorn  and  with  Friedrich  Wieck.  The 
first,  who  was  conductor  of  the  opera  and  a  notable 
figure  in  musical  Leipzig,  he  immortalised  by  studying 
composition  with  him  ;  and  the  second  he  honoured,  as 
we  shall  see,  by  marrying  his  daughter  Clara.  Wieck 
was  the  leading  piano  professor  in  Leipzig,  and 
Schumann  had  now  determined  upon  being  a  virtuoso 
of  the  keyboard.  Even  when  pretending  to  study  law, 
he  would  often  practise  the  piano  for  seven  hours  a 
day.  Now  he  placed  himself  under  Wieck's  tuition. 
Unluckily,  the  obstinate  stiffness  of  that  third  finger 
which  gives  trouble  to  all  pianists,  set  Schumann  un- 
loosening and  developing  the  sinews  by  a  mechanical 
invention  of  his  own.  The  contrivance  was  simple 
enough — a  cord  through  a  pulley  fastened  to  the  ceil- 
ing of  his  room.  By  this  means  he  could  draw  back 
his  finger  at  will,  and  prevent  it  moving  while  the 
other  fingers  played.  As  Ambros  remarks,  the  device 
was  a  good  illustration  of  the  saying  that  a  man  is 
liable  to  break  his  neck  if  he  jumps  through  a  window 
in  order  to  get  down  quicker  than  by  the  stairway.  It 
was  not  only  unsuccessful  :  it  caused  permanent  injury 
to  the  hand,  so  that  in  the  end  Schumann  had  to 
abandon  altogether  the  idea  of  being  a  great  pianist. 

The  disappointment  arising  from  this  unexpected 
shattering  of  his  ambitions  must  have  been  intense. 
But  we,  who  know  the  after  history,  know  that  music 
gained  in  a  higher  walk  what  it  lost  in  a  lower.  The 
player  leaves  behind  him,  after  all,  little  more  than  a 
memory  amongst  those   who  may  have  heard  him  ; 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  133 

the  great  composer  is  remembered  not  alone  by  the 
age  in  which  he  writes  but  by  all  time.  Still,  one  can- 
not help  sympathising  with  Schumann  in  his  dis- 
comfiture. Nor  was  it  the  only  thing  that  seriously  dis- 
turbed him  about  this  date.  He  had  fallen  passionately 
in  love  with  Clara  Wieck,  "  one  of  the  most  glorious 
girls  the  world  has  ever  seen  "  (so,  in  his  rapture,  he 
described  her);  but  Clara's  father,  while  willing  to 
retain  him  as  a  pupil,  would  not  hear  of  him  for  a 
son-in-law.  He  had  higher  ambitions  for  his  prodigy 
daughter.  Imagine  the  prosaic  fellow  writing  thus 
to  Schumann  :  *'  I  don't  quite  know  what  I  mean  to  do 
with  Clara,  but, — hearts !  what  do  I  care  about  hearts  ?  " 
Aye,  but  hearts  have  a  way  of  asserting  themselves ! 

Clara  Wieck  had  already,  as  a  child  of  ten,  made  a 
sensation  as  a  pianist,  and  we  can  readily  understand 
how  Schumann  would  be  drawn  to  her  while  he  was 
himself  hopeful  of  posing  as  a  player.  In  the  Auto- 
biography of  Moscheles  there  are  frequent  references 
to  meetings  with  Schumann  at  the  house  of  the  Wiecks, 
and  Clara's  playing  is  spoken  of  as  "  superb,  and  void 
of  all  affectation."  It  was  lucky  for  Schumann  that 
Clara  Wieck  was  as  much  in  love  with  him  as  he  was 
with  her.  In  the  meantime  they  resolved  to  wait, 
hoping  that  old  Wieck  would  relent.  He  did  not  re- 
lent. At  first  Schumann  took  it  philosophically,  re- 
marking that  the  delay  had  at  least  this  advantage, 
that  they  would  gain  a  better  knowledge  of  each  other 
— a  knowledge  that  to  most  people  usually  came  after 
marriage. 


134  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Two  years  went  by,  and  Wieck  still  remained  un- 
yielding. Then,  as  a  last  resource,  Schumann  called 
in  the  aid  of  the  law ;  for  in  Germany,  if  a  father 
refuses  to  let  his  daughter  marry,  he  can  be  forced  to 
say  why.  The  case  dragged  on  for  a  whole  year,  but 
at  length  the  courts  decided  that  Wieck's  objections 
were  trivial,  and  the  marriage  took  place  in  September 
1840,  when  the  bride  was  twenty-one  and  the  bride- 
groom thirty.  Schumann  felt  perfectly  justified  in  the 
step  he  had  taken.  "  We  are  young,"  he  wrote  ;  "  we 
have  our  fingers,  power,  reputation.  I  have,  moreover, 
a  modest  property,  which  brings  me  300  thalers  a  year  ; 
the  profits  of  the  Journal  are  almost  as  much,  and  my 
compositions  are  well  paid  for."  Happy  man  among 
great  composers,  to  be  able  to  begin  married  life  under 
such  rosy  auspices ! 

Robert  Schumann  and  Clara  Wieck  are  not  only 
the  ideal  lovers  of  musical  history,  but  their  story  is 
worthy  of  a  high  place  in  the  love  literature  of  the 
world.  There  is  nothing  more  earnest  and  noble,  from 
Heloise  and  Abelard  to  Paul  and  Virginia.  A  more 
satisfactory  union  has  seldom  been  recorded.  During 
the  courtship,  Schumann  told  his  fiancee  that  "we  will 
lead  a  life  of  poetry  and  blossom,  and  we  will  play 
and  compose  together  like  angels,  and  bring  gladness 
to  mankind."  That  was  pretty  much  what  they  did 
— until  the  shadow  fell.  Schumann  said  to  Mendels- 
sohn that  his  wife  was  *'a  gift  from  heaven."  And 
such  she  proved  herself.  The  loftiness  of  her  character 
was  never  more  clearly  shown  than  when  she  took  up 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  135 

the  burden  of  life  after  the  great  tragedy  which  sent 
her  husband  with  clouded  mind  into  confinement,  leav- 
ing her  with  the  cares  of  a  young  family.  While  they 
were  together  they  lived  for  one  another,  and  for  their 
children,  of  whom  there  were  eight  in  all.  He  created 
and  wrote  for  his  wife  and  in  accordance  with  her 
temperament,  while  she  looked  upon  it  as  her  highest 
privilege  to  give  to  the  world  the  most  perfect  interpreta- 
tion of  his  works  for  the  piano.  She  had  a  long  widow- 
hood of  forty  years,  and  during  all  that  time  she  devoted 
herself  to  the  popularising  of  her  husband's  works. 

To  return  from  this  anticipation  of  events.  Dis- 
appointed in  his  hopes  of  becoming  a  great  pianist, 
Schumann  took  to  composition  as  a  congenial  alterna- 
tive. During  the  courtship  period  his  imaginative  mind 
received  many  happy  inspirations,  which  found  an  out- 
let mostly  in  vocal  pieces.  In  the  year  of  his  marriage 
alone,  he  wrote  no  fewer  than  1 30  songs,  some  of  them 
the  finest  things  he  ever  did  in  that  line.  Larger  works, 
such  as  symphonies  and  concertos,  he  also  tried  at 
this  time  ;  but  only  the  lesser  works  of  the  period  for 
piano  have  survived.  It  was  but  natural  that  his  first 
successes  should  be  for  the  instrument  which  he  knew 
best.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  his  sympathy  for  the  piano 
continued  to  the  end,  and  much  of  his  best  music  is 
in  the  form  of  highly  imaginative  pieces  for  it.  Most  of 
them  belong  to  the  sameorder  as  Mendelssohn's  ''  Songs 
without  Words,"  but  they  are  far  more  characteristic 
and  original,  and  more  poetical  and  romantic.  The 
standard  of  his  ideas  was  so  high,  and  his  treatment 


136  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

of  the  instrument  so  rich  in  colour,  that  he  raised  this 
branch  of  art  to  a  point  which  it  had  never  attained 
before,  and  left  a  mass  of  genuine  lyrics,  the  most 
enduring  and  enjoyable  of  all  the  thousands  of  such 
works  which  the  nineteenth  century  produced. 

Early  in  his  career  as  a  composer,  Schumann  was 
drawn  into  literary  work  on  behalf  of  music.  Musicians 
are  seldom  good  writers,  but  Schumann,  like  Wagner 
and  Berlioz,  was  a  brilliant  exception.  In  fact  we  must 
regard  him  always  in  the  double  character  of  composer 
and  writer.  He  had  been  much  impressed  with  the  low- 
ness  of  public  taste  in  music,  as  well  as  by  the  badness 
of  musical  criticism  ;  and  with  the  view  of  remedying 
matters  he  started  the  New  Journal  of  Music,  which 
came  to  be  mainly  instrumental  in  bringing  into  notice 
Chopin,  Berlioz,  Weber,  Brahms,  Henselt,  and  other 
rising  musicians  of  the  time.  As  editor  of  this  publica- 
tion, which  by  the  way  still  lives,  Schumann  exercised 
a  very  powerful  influence,  and  established  himself  as 
a  keen  and  incisive  thinker  and  a  master  of  literary 
style. 

Editing  a  journal  is  hard  work  under  any  circum- 
stances, but  it  is  doubly  hard  when  a  man's  whole  soul 
and  most  of  his  time  are  given  to  it.  Schumann  was  in 
this  position  during  all  the  ten  years  of  his  editorship, 
with  the  consequence  that  he  composed  very  little.  In- 
deed he  w^as  so  absorbed  in  his  writing  that  Mendels- 
sohn is  declared  to  have  scarcely  thought  of  him  as  a 
composer  at  all,  but  only  as  a  literary  man.  By  and 
by,  however,  a  flood  of  works  for  the  piano  came  forth. 


SCHUMANN 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  137 

many  of  them  among  his  finest  compositions — such  as 
the  great  Fantasia  in  C,  the  Hiunoreske^  Novelletteit, 
Fantasiestucke,  and  other  pieces.  Immediately  after 
this  he  took  to  symphony  writing,  and  in  one  year 
produced  three  of  his  most  important  works  in  that 
department,  notably  the  Symphony  in  B  flat  which  he 
wrote  with  a  pen  he  had  found  lying  on  Beethoven's 
grave.  It  was  his  fancy  to  imagine  that  the  pen  had 
been  accidentally  dropped  by  Schubert.  Then  he  took 
up  chamber  music,  and  wrote  the  famous  Quintet  for 
piano  and  strings  and  the  Quartet  for  a  similar  com- 
bination, both  of  which  have  gained  an  enviable  popu- 
larity. Afterwards  he  struck  out  in  yet  another  line, 
and  tried  choral  composition.  Taking  Moore's  '*  Lallah 
Rookh  "  as  the  basis  of  his  text,  he  produced  a  delight- 
ful cantata.  Paradise  and  the  Peri,  which  is  not  so  well 
known  as  it  should  be. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  his  health  began  to  give 
way.  He  had  overtaxed  his  strength  ;  for  besides  com- 
position and  literary  work  he  had  been  acting  as 
Mendelssohn's  coadjutor  in  the  new  Conservatorium 
at  Leipzig.  His  professorship  here  greatly  worried  him, 
for,  like  most  geniuses,  he  had  no  aptitude  for  teach- 
ing, and  the  continual  listening  to  music  indifferently 
performed  worked  on  his  nerves.  The  trouble  began 
to  manifest  itself  rather  seriously  in  loss  of  musical 
memory,  sleeplessness,  and  strange,  uncanny  imagin- 
ings. ''  Everything  affects  and  exhausts  me,"  he  said. 
There  was  a  vein  of  hypochondria  in  his  family,  and 
a  sister  had  died  at  twenty  of  an  incurable  melancholy. 


138  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

He  moved  to  Dresden  for  quiet,  but  the  quiet  only 
made  his  habits  of  silence  and  abstraction  more  pro- 
nounced, and  his  health  never  fully  returned.  He  got 
a  little  better  about  1846,  and  began  to  compose  again 
with  something  of  his  old  ardour.  The  great  Symphony 
in  C,  and  the  famous  Concerto  for  piano  both  belong 
to  this  period,  and  the  opera  of  Genoveva  followed 
somewhat  later.  The  stay  at  Dresden  (where  he  met 
Wagner)  continued  until  1849,  when  political  disturb- 
ances necessitated  a  removal.  Presently  we  find  him 
in  Dusseldorf  as  conductor  of  an  important  orchestra. 
But  this  post  proved  equally  intractable  with  the 
Leipzig  professorship.  Schumann  was  too  shy,  if  not  too 
morose,  to  make  a  satisfactory  conductor.  At  rehearsals 
he  often  praised  when  he  should  have  blamed  ;  and 
if  mistakes  happened  after  repeated  trials,  he  simply 
got  angry  without  explaining  the  cause  of  his  temper. 

Although  a  faithful  friend,  Schumann  was  eminently 
unsociable,  and  his  reserve  became  more  and  more 
marked  as  the  years  went  on.  He  knew  this  himself. 
Once  when  an  old  acquaintance  wrote  that  he  meant 
to  call  on  him,  Schumann  answered :  "  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  see  you,  but  there  is  not  much  to  be  had 
from  me.  I  hardly  speak  at  all — in  the  evening  more, 
and  most  at  the  piano."  He  once  asked  another  friend 
to  go  with  him  for  lunch  to  a  restaurant  in  the  suburbs, 
and  during  the  walk  there  and  back,  about  a  mile  each 
way,  the  only  remark  he  made  was  about  the  fine 
weather.  Henriette  Voigt,  an  amateur  friend,  tells 
how,  after  she  and  the  composer  had  been  enjoying 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  139 

music  together  one  lovely  evening,  they  went  out  in 
a  boat.  And  there  they  sat,  side  by  side,  for  over 
an  hour,  without  either  speaking  a  word.  When  they 
parted,  Schumann  said,  with  a  pressure  of  the  hand 
that  betokened  his  feelings :  "To-day  we  have  perfectly 
understood  one  another."  Still  another  incident  in 
illustration  is  reported  by  Dr.  Hanslick,  who  writes  : 
« Wagner  expressed  himself  thus  to  me  in  1846: 
Schumann  is  a  highly  gifted  musician  but  an  impossible 
man.  When  I  came  from  Paris  I  went  to  see  him.  I 
related  my  Parisian  experiences,  spoke  of  the  state 
of  music  in  France,  then  of  that  in  Germany ;  spoke 
of  literature  and  politics,  but  he  remained  as  good 
as  dumb  for  over  an  hour.  One  cannot  go  on  talk- 
ing quite  alone."  It  is  only  fair,  however,  to  give 
Schumann's  version  of  the  same  interview :  **  I  have 
seldom  met  Wagner,  but  he  is  a  man  of  education 
and  spirit ;  he  talks,  however,  unceasingly,  and  that 
one  cannot  endure  for  very  long  together."  In  other 
words,  Wagner  talked  so  incessantly  as  to  give 
Schumann  no  chance  of  speaking. 

Meanwhile,  there  were  ominous  signs  of  returning 
mental  disturbance.  At  Diisseldorf  things  became  so 
unsatisfactory  that  Schumann's  engagement  was  ter- 
minated, and  in  a  way  that  left  a  painful  impression 
on  his  mind.  A  concert  tour  in  Holland,  which  he 
undertook  with  his  wife,  brought  back  some  of  the  old 
pleasure  in  life,  but  hallucinations  of  a  strange  kind 
continued  to  haunt  him  at  intervals  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  even  wished  to  be  taken  to  an  asylum.    He 


I40  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

was  afraid  to  live  above  the  ground  floor,  or  to  go  to 
a  height  in  any  building,  in  case  he  might  suddenly  be 
tempted  to  throw  himself  down. 

In  1853  the  darkness  further  deepened.  "  He  began 
to  attend  spiritualistic  stances,  and  imagined  that 
Beethoven  was  trying  to  communicate  with  him  by 
four  knocks  on  the  table.  He  fancied  himself  haunted 
by  Schubert,  who  begged  him  to  finish  the  '  Unfinished 
Symphony ' ;  he  imagined  that  the  note  '  A '  was 
always  sounding  in  his  ears,  and  gradually  whole  com- 
positions seemed  to  grow  above  this  continual  organ 
point."  Curiously  enough,  it  was  this  same  delusion 
about  hearing  a  single  note  that  drove  the  Bohemian 
composer  Smetana  mad,  after  making  the  note  the 
foundation  of  one  of  his  compositions.  Schumann 
thought  that  spirits  brought  him  musical  themes ; 
and  in  February  1854  he  wrote  down  one  of  these 
themes,  which  Brahms  afterwards  "set"  as  piano  varia- 
tions, ending  with  a  funeral  march.  Then  came  one 
of  those  dreadful  lucid  intervals,  in  which  he  realised 
that  he  was  going  crazy.  His  malady  became  more 
and  more  serious,  and  during  a  severe  attack  he  tried 
to  commit  suicide  by  throwing  himself  into  the  Rhine. 
He  was  rescued  just  in  time  by  some  passing  boat- 
men, but  the  shock  was  too  severe,  and  he  had  to  be 
placed  in  a  private  asylum  at  Endenich,  near  Bonn. 

He  made  occasional  improvements,  and  was  able 
to  see  friends  and  enjoy  their  company.  Sad  to  say, 
however,  his  wife  was  forbidden  to  visit  him,  for  it 
seemed  to  excite  his  emotions  too  greatly  to  see  her. 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  141 

Yet  it  was  in  the  arms  of  that  noble,  loving  wife  that 
he  breathed  his  last,  after  two  mournful  years  of  seclu- 
sion, on  the  29th  of  July  1856.  He  was  buried  at  Bonn, 
the  birthplace  of  Beethoven,  and  over  his  grave  stands 
a  superb  monument,  subscribed  for  by  a  wide  circle  of 
friends  and  admirers.  His  old  intimate,  Ferdinand 
Hiller,  inconsolable  for  his  loss,  wrote  a  panegyric 
which  may  fittingly  be  transcribed  : 

Thou  didst  rule  with  a  golden  sceptre  over  a  splendid 
world  of  tones,  and  thou  didst  work  therein  with  power  and 
freedom.  And  many  of  the  best  gathered  round  thee,  in- 
trusted themselves  to  thee,  inspired  thee  with  their  inspiration, 
and  rewarded  thee  with  their  deep  affection.  And  what  a 
love  adorned  thy  life  !  A  wife,  gifted  with  a  radiant  crown  of 
genius,  stood  at  thy  side,  and  thou  wert  to  her  as  the  f^ither 
to  daughter,  as  bridegroom  to  bride,  and  as  master  to 
disciple,  and  as  saint  to  the  elect.  And  when  she  could  not 
be  with  thee  and  remove  every  stone  from  before  thy  feet, 
then  didst  thou  feel,  in  the  midst  of  dreams  and  sorrows, 
her  protecting  hand  from  the  distance  ;  and  when  the  Angel 
of  Death  had  pity  on  thee,  and  drew  nigh  to  thy  anguished 
soul,  in  order  to  help  it  again  toward  light  and  freedom,  in 
thy  last  hours  thy  glance  met  hers  ;  and  reading  the  love  in 
her  eyes,  thy  weary  spirit  fled. 

It  is  said  that  Schumann's  mental  disease  was 
chiefly  attributable  to  the  formation  of  bony  masses  in 
the  brain.  There  is  an  affecting  story  of  Brahms  goino- 
to  see  him  at  Endenich,  when  he  heard  him  ask  for  a 
Bible.  The  physicians  refused  his  request,  choosing  to 
read  it  as  a  convincing  evidence  of  brain  trouble  ! 
"  Those  fellows,"  said  Brahms,  "  did  not  know  that 
we  North  Germans  want  the  Bible  every  day,  and 
never  let  a  day  pass  without  it." 


142  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Schumann's  personal  appearance  is  familiar  through 
his  portraits.  One  of  his  biographers  gives  this  descrip- 
tion of  him  towards  the  close  of  his  life  : 

Robert  Schumann  was  of  middling  stature,  almost  tall, 
and  slightly  corpulent.  His  bearing,  while  in  health,  was 
haughty,  distinguished,  dignified,  and  calm  ;  his  gait  slow, 
soft,  and  a  little  slovenly.  He  often  paced  the  room  on  tip- 
toe, apparently  without  cause.  His  eyes  were  generally 
downcast,  half-closed,  and  only  brightened  in  intercourse 
with  intimate  friends,  but  then  most  pleasantly.  His  counte- 
nance produced  an  agreeable,  kindly  impression  ;  it  was 
without  regular  beauty,  and  not  particularly  intellectual. 
The  fine-cut  mouth,  usually  puckered  as  if  to  whistle,  was, 
next  to  the  eyes,  the  most  attractive  feature  of  his  round, 
full,  ruddy  face.  Above  the  heavy  nose  rose  a  high,  bold, 
arched  brow,  which  broadened  visibly  at  the  temples.  His 
head,  covered  with  long,  thick,  dark-brown  hair,  was  firm, 
and  intensely  powerful — one  might  say  square. 

This  is  not  very  flattering,  to  say  the  least.  Sir  Stern- 
dale  Bennett,  who  had  met  him  in  Leipzig,  was  more 
amusing,  if  less  particular  as  to  detail,  when  he  wrote  : 

Herr  Schumann  is  a  first-rate  man. 
He  smokes  as  ne'er  another  can  ; 
A  man  of  thirty,  I  suppose, 
Short  is  his  hair,  and  short  his  nose. 

As  a  man,  Schumann  was  kind-hearted  and  gener- 
ous and  devoid  of  all  professional  jealousy.  It  was 
only  his  fits  of  excessive  depression  and  gloomy  fore- 
boding, his  reserve  and  his  extreme  irritability — all 
born  of  the  brain  trouble — that  prevented  him  from 
making  friends  more  readily  than  he  did.  He  once 
wrote  to  Clara  Wieck  :  "  I  am  often  very  leathery,  dry, 
and  disagreeable,  and  laugh  much  inwardly."    And 


ROBERT  SCHUMANN  143 

again  :  "  Inwardly  I  acknowledge  the  most  trifling 
favour,  understand  every  hint,  every  subtle  trait  in 
another's  heart,  and  yet  I  so  often  blunder  in  what  I 
say  and  do."  One  of  the  best  features  in  his  character 
was  his  fondness  for  young  people,  as  indeed  his 
famous  Album  for  the  Young  would  suggest.  There  is  a 
pretty  story  of  a  little  piece  of  funning  he  practised  on 
his  own  children  when,  meeting  them  one  day  on  the 
street,  he  pretended  not  to  know  who  they  were. 
Whatever  his  outward  manner,  his  heart  was  in  the 
right  place. 

It  is  only  within  comparatively  recent  years  that 
Schumann  has  attained  anything  like  world-wide 
recognition.  He  said  of  his  own  time  that  if  he  had 
not  made  himself  feared  as  an  editor  he  would  never 
have  got  his  works  published.  They  were  considered 
"  dry,  eccentric,  heavy,  out  of  rule."  We  look  upon 
them  rather  differently  now.  Schumann's  music,  to  use 
a  common  phrase,  is  of  the  kind  that  grows  upon  one. 
From  its  sheer  originality,  it  is  mostly  difficult,  some- 
times even  impossible,  to  grasp  its  full  meaning  at 
first.  Not  only  are  the  passages  so  novel  and  unusual 
as  to  render  the  task  of  sight-playing  more  than 
ordinarily  hard  ;  but  even  when  the  notes  are  mastered, 
the  whole  beauty  of  the  thought  does  not  always  strike 
the  player.  The  music  must  be  studied  carefully  and 
heard  repeatedly  to  be  fully  appreciated.  Wagner 
sneeringly  said  that  "Schumann  has  a  tendency  to- 
wards greatness."  But  in  his  own  line  Schumann  is  just 
as  great  as  Wagner  is  in  his  line.    Liszt  may  have 


144  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

exaggerated  when  he  called  him  ''  the  greatest  music- 
thinker  since  Beethoven  "  ;  but  we  can  all  agree  with 
Liszt  when  he  says  :  "  The  more  closely  we  examine 
Schumann's  ideas,  the  more  power  and  life  do  we  dis- 
cover in  them  ;  and  the  more  we  study  them,  the  more 
we  are  amazed  at  the  wealth  and  fertility  which  had 
before  escaped  us."  Schumann  has  now  gained  a  secure 
hold  among  music-lovers,  and  it  is  probable  that  he 
will  live  when  some  of  his  contemporaries  who  passed 
him  on  the  road  to  popular  favour  have  been  all  but 
forgotten. 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN:  SINGER  OF  THE 
"SONGS  WITHOUT  WORDS" 

Few  instances  can  be  found  in  history  of  a  man  so  amply  gifted 
with  every  good  quality  of  mind  and  heart  ;  so  carefully  brought 
up  amongst  good  influences  ;  endowed  with  every  circumstance 
that  would  make  him  happy ;  and  so  thoroughly  fulfilling  his 
mission.  Never  perhaps  could  any  man  be  found  in  whose  life 
there  were  so  few  things  to  conceal  and  to  regret. — Sir  George 
Grove. 

It  is  a  proverb  that  names  go  by  contraries.  But 
proverbs  are  not  always  true.  Mendelssohn's  Christian 
name  was  Felix,  and  what  Berlioz  said  of  Mendelssohn's 
godson,  Felix  Moscheles,  might  truly  be  said  of  Men- 
delssohn himself:  "  So  long  as  thou  art  Felix,  that  is, 
happy,  thou  shalt  reckon  on  many  friends."  Mendels- 
sohn stands  as  the  type  of  the  fortunate  composer  : 
"  rich,  talented,  courted,  petted,  loved,  even  adored." 
His  path  was  practically  "  roses,  roses  all  the  way." 
He  never  knew  the  cares  that  beset  the  lives  of 
Beethoven,  Mozart,  Schubert,  Wagner,  and  Schumann. 
The  fires  of  adversity  never  touched  Jiini. 

Whom  the  gods  love,  die  young,  it  is  said.  That 
distinction  Mendelssohn  also  enjoyed,  and  it  gives  an 
additional  glamour  to  his  personality.  He  was  one  of 
the  most  blameless  characters  in  the  whole  history  of 

145  L 


146  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

music.  His  aunt  declared  that  during  his  whole  career 
she  failed  to  recall  a  word  or  deed  that  could  be 
criticised.  Lampadius,  one  of  his  biographers,  em- 
phasises this.  He  says  :  ''  Living  in  loose  capitals  and 
surrounded  by  unprincipled  people,  he  was  true  to  all 
moral  obligations,  and  perfect  in  all  the  relations  of 
son,  brother,  lover,  husband,  and  father.  Surrounded 
by  intriguers,  he  stood  above  them  all,  and  was  frank, 
transparent,  honourable,  noble  ;  tempted  by  his  sunny, 
enthusiastic,  alert  nature  to  do  simply  bright  and 
genial  things  in  music,  he  was  thorough,  studious, 
earnest,  religious,  and  steadfastly  consecrated  to  the 
highest  and  the  best."  Such  was  Felix  Mendelssohn, 
the  composer  of  Elijah,  the  man  who  conceived  the 
"  Songs  without  Words." 

Mendelssohn's  father  used  to  say :  "  Formerly  1 
was  the  son  of  my  father  :  now  I  am  the  father  of  my 
son."  This  meant  that  he  was  himself  of  no  account, 
whereas  his  father  and  his  son  were  famous.  And  that 
was  true.  For  Mendelssohn's  grandfather  was  the 
once  distinguished  scholar  and  philosopher,  Moses 
Mendelssohn.  Moses  was  a  Jew,  and  suffered  all  the 
disabilities  which  the  Jews  suffered  at  that  time.  He  was 
small  and  hump-backed,  too.  And  he  was  very  poor  ; 
so  poor  that  at  one  time  his  sole  food  was  a  weekly 
loaf,  on  which  he  carefully  marked  off  his  day's  allow- 
ance, in  case  he  should  be  tempted  to  forestall  to- 
morrow's meal.  But  he  had  pluck  and  perseverance, 
and  he  rose  to  a  high  position.  Here  is  a  story  of  him. 
He  had  applied  for  the  post  of  Court  chaplain,  and 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  147 

the  Emperor  told  him  that  his  success  would  depend 
upon  the  extempore  sermon  he  should  preach  from  a 
text  given  him  when  he  was  in  the  pulpit.  At  the 
critical  moment  Moses  found  that  he  had  got  a  blank 
sheet  of  paper,  but  he  did  not  lose  his  presence  of  mind, 
and  very  soon  warmed  up  to  an  eloquent  discourse  on 
the  creation  of  the  world  from  nothing  ! 

This,  then,  was  the  composer's  grandfather.  His 
father,  Abraham  Mendelssohn,  was  a  banker  who  had 
improved  his  already  good  position  in  Hamburg  by 
marrying  a  lady  of  property.  The  first  fruit  of  the 
union  was  a  daughter  named  Fanny ;  the  second  was 
the  future  musician,  Jakob  Ludwig  Felix,  born  at 
Hamburg  on  the  3rd  of  February  1809.  Shortly  after 
his  birth,  Hamburg  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  French, 
and  the  family  fled  to  Berlin,  where  the  banking  busi- 
ness was  continued.  By  this  date  Abraham  Mendels- 
sohn had  realised  the  practical  inconveniences  of 
being  a  Jew ;  so  he  decided  to  bring  up  his  family  as 
Protestant  Christians.  At  the  same  time  he  added 
the  name  of  his  wife's  family,  Bartholdy,  to  his  own, 
desiring  to  be  known  by  that  rather  than  by  so  obvi- 
ously Jewish  a  name  as  Mendelssohn.  He  tried  to  get 
his  son  to  call  himself  Felix  M.  Bartholdy,  that  is,  to 
drop  the  Mendelssohn  altogether.  The  son  declined, 
but  he  compromised  by  writing  the  full  name,  Felix 
Mendelssohn-Bartholdy.  To-day  no  one  thinks  of 
using  the  double-barrelled  name.  Mendelssohn  does 
not  belong  to  Judaism,  but  to  the  world. 

Felix  and  Fanny,  most  loving  of  brothers  and  sisters, 


148  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

were  both  musical.  They  remind  one  of  Mozart  and 
Ids  sister.  The  mother  was  their  first  instructor,  and  it 
is  delightful  to  read  of  her  sitting  beside  them  while 
they  practised,  and  wondering  at  what  she  called  their 
*'  Bach-fugue  fingers."  Fanny  at  first  showed  gifts  equal 
to  her  brother,  and  Mendelssohn  used  to  say  that  she 
played  better  than  himself.  But,  like  most  girls,  she 
"wentand  got  married,"and music  lost  what  might  have 
been  a  modestly  rich  inheritance.  When  the  mother's 
teaching  limits  were  reached,  a  couple  of  masters  were 
called  in,  one  for  piano,  another  for  theory.  The  theory 
master  was  Zelter,  who  had  been  a  pupil  of  Bach.  But 
so  far,  Mendelssohn,  like  his  sister,  was  simply  taking 
music  as  one  of  the  adjuncts  of  a  liberal  education. 
There  was  as  yet  no  idea  of  his  making  a  profession 
of  it.  Abraham  Mendelssohn  only  wanted  to  clothe 
his  children  with  the  essentials  of  general  culture,  and 
music  had  to  be  included. 

In  course  of  time,  however,  the  boy  declared  em- 
phatically for  music  as  a  profession.  The  father  hesi- 
tated, though  he  had  really  been  encouraging  Felix 
all  along,  especially  with  music-makings  in  the  home, 
when  the  boy  would  conduct  the  improvised  orchestra. 
He  would  not  rely  on  his  own  judgment,  anyway.  He 
would  take  the  boy  to  Paris,  and  consult  Cherubini 
about  him.  This  was  in  1825.  "The  lad  is  rich,"  said 
Cherubini  ;  ''  he  will  do  well  in  music.  I  myself  will 
talk  to  him,  and  then  he  will  do  well."  The  "  and  then  " 
is  delectable,  and  just  expresses  the  character  of  Cheru- 
bini, whom  Mendelssohn  compared  with  an  extinct  vol- 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  149 

cano  covered  with  ashes  and  occasionally  belching  forth 
flames.  However,  it  settled  the  matter  for  Mendelssohn. 
Very  soon  the  stream  of  composition  was  running  freely, 
and  the  young  artist  was  working  away  at  the  pro- 
fession of  his  life.  The  first  really  notable  work  that 
came  from  his  pen  was  the  overture  to  the  Midsummer 
Nighfs  Dream^  written  when  he  was  only  seventeen. 
For  neatness  of  expression,  freshness  of  invention, 
management  of  form,  and  delicacy  and  finish  of  orches- 
tration, Mendelssohn  never  surpassed  this  early  work. 
It  took  him  the  best  part  of  a  year  to  write  it,  but 
surely  it  was  a  year  well  spent. 

His  life  went  on  somewhat  uneventfully  for  years 
after  this  ;  and  when  1829  came  his  parents  sent  him 
off  to  England  on  the  beginning  of  a  "  grand  tour," 
which  was  to  extend  through  most  of  the  countries  of 
Europe.  Landing  in  London,  he  had  his  Midsummer 
Nighfs  Dream  overture  performed,  and  the  effect  was 
electrical.  All  at  once,  and  when  least  expected,  the 
great  gap  left  by  the  death  of  Beethoven  seemed  likely 
to  be  filled  up.  The  story  is  told  that  after  the  per- 
formance the  full  score  of  the  overture  was  left  in  a 
cab  and  entirely  disappeared  ;  but  Mendelssohn  wrote 
it  all  out  again  from  memory,  and  it  was  found  to 
be  almost  perfectly  exact  when  compared  with  the 
separate  orchestral  parts. 

Mendelssohn  had  a  great  affection  for  London.  He 
called  it  *'  the  grandest  and  the  most  complicated 
monster  on  the  face  of  the  earth."  He  came  to  it  asfain 
and  again,  and  was  never  tired  of  praising  the  "  smoky 


I50  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

nest."  Amid  the  gloriesof  aNaplesspring  he  could  write 
that  "  My  heart  swells  when  I  even  think  of  London." 
On  this  first  visit  he  lodged  with  a  Mr.  Heinke,  a  German 
ironmonger,  at  103  (now  79)  Great  Portland  Street.  Mrs. 
Heinke  made  capital  bread-and-butter  puddings,  and 
Mendelssohn  was  so  fond  of  them  that  he  asked  her 
to  keep  a  reserve  in  the  cupboard  of  his  sitting-room, 
so  that  he  might  help  himself  when  he  came  in  late  at 
night.  The  cup  supporting  a  pie-crust  was  a  novelty 
to  him,  and  he  was  always  much  amused  when  it  was 
lifted  and  the  juice  bubbled  out.  He  had  the  simple 
enjoyments  of  an  overgrown  boy.  An  incident  of  this 
same  visit  may  be  told  in  his  own  words.  He  says  : 
"  The  other  day  we  three  walked  home  from  a  highly 
diplomatic  party,  having  had  our  fill  of  fashionable 
dishes,  sayings,  and  doings.  We  passed  a  very  enticing 
sausage  shop,  in  which  '  German  Sausages,  twopence 
each,'  were  laid  out  for  show.  Patriotism  overcame 
us  ;  each  bought  a  long  sausage.  We  turned  into  where 
it  was  quieter,  Portland  Street,  and  there  consumed  our 
purchases,  Rosen  and  I  being  hardly  able,  for  laughing, 
to  join  in  the  three-part  songs  of  which  Muhlenfelds 
would  sing  the  bass."  Mendelssohn  had  a  rich  apprecia- 
tion of  a  joke.  One  English  story  vastly  amused  him. 
It  was  this :  At  a  country  funeral  the  parish  clerk,  or 
sexton,  appeared  in  a  red  waistcoat.  When  the  clergy- 
man remonstrated  with  him  upon  the  unseemly  colour, 
the  clerk  replied :  "  Well,  what  does  it  matter,  your 
reverence,  so  long  as  the  heart  is  black  ?  " 

Mendelssohn  had  two  grand  pianos  in  his  rooms  at 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  151 

the  Heinkes',  and  he  was  constantly  practising.  More- 
over, he  practised  on  a  dumb  keyboard  while  sitting 
up  in  bed.  His  public  appearances  were  greeted  with 
wild  enthusiasm.  The  best  account  of  them  is  in  his 
own  letters,  for  he  was  a  charming  letter-writter.  "  Old 
John  Cramer  led  me  to  the  piano  like  a  young  lady," 
he  says,  *'  and  I  was  received  with  immense  applause." 
At  a  morning  concert  he  played  Weber's  Concertstuck, 
when  he  was  dressed  in  *' very  long  white  trousers,  brown 
silk  waistcoat,  black  necktie,  and  blue  dress  coat."  Of 
another  concert  he  tells,  with  consummate  amusement, 
how  a  lady  accidentally  sat  on  a  kettledrum. 

The  season  closed,  and  at  the  end  of  July  he  set  off 
for  Edinburgh.  He  wanted  to  see  Scotland,  he  said, 
because  of  the  Waverley  Novels,  s\\  of  which  he  had  read. 
For  companion  he  took  with  him  his  friend  Carl  Klinge- 
mann,  then  secretary  to  the  Hanoverian  Embassy  in 
London.  He  was  enraptured  with  Edinburgh,  and  the 
Highland  soldiers  marching  from  the  church  to  the 
Castle  specially  took  his  attention.  He  even  got  a 
Scots  piper  to  play  to  him  at  his  hotel.  He  was  in  a 
mood  to  be  pleased  with  everything  and  everybody. 
"  How  kind  the  people  are  in  Edinburgh,  and  how 
generous  is  the  good  God  ! "  he  wrote  home.  "  The 
Scotch  ladies,"  he  naively  observes,  "  deserve  notice." 
The  last  evening  of  the  visit  was  devoted  to  Holyrood, 
"  where  Queen  Mary  lived  and  loved."  The  chapel, 
he  writes,  "  is  now  roofless  ;  grass  and  ivy  grow  there  "  ; 
and  he  adds  :  "  I  believe  I  found  to-day,  in  that  old 
chapel,  the  beginning  of  my  Scotch  Symphony T   The 


152  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Scotch  SympJiony  was  indeed  a  direct  result  of  this  visit, 
as  was  also  the  Hebrides  overture. 

For  Mendelssohn  was  not  satisfied  with  seeing  Edin- 
burgh. By  way  of  Stirling  and  Perth,  he  and  Klinge- 
mann  proceeded  to  the  Highlands,  with  Highland 
weather  accompanying  them  till  they  reached  Glasgow. 
Earth  and  sky,  in  Mendelssohn's  phrase,  were  "  wet 
through."  At  Bridge  of  Tummel  they  were  housed  in 
an  inn  where  they  had  "  Scotch  wooden  shoes "  for 
slippers,  "  tea  with  honey  and  potato  cakes,"  and — 
whisky.  The  little  boys,  "with  their  kilts  and  bare  knees 
and  gay-coloured  bonnets,  the  waiter  in  his  tartan,  old 
people  with  pigtails,  all  talk  helter-skelter  in  their  un- 
intelligible Gaelic."  No  wonder  the  travellers  thought 
they  had  "  stumbled  on  a  bit  of  culture  "  when  they 
struck  Fort-William  !  Later  on,  at  Tobermory,  they 
found  everything  "  perfectly  charming."  Klingemann 
had  somehow  confounded  the  Hebrides  with  the  Hes- 
perides,  and  was  disappointed  (so  he  says)  to  find  the 
oranges  in  the  toddy  instead  of  on  the  trees  !  But  both 
Germans  were  getting  used  to  "  good  Scots  drink." 
A  visit  to  Staffa  and  lona  proved  that  they  were  not 
getting  used  to  Atlantic  weather.  Mendelssohn  was  a 
bad  sailor,  and  was  most  unromantically  sea-sick.  To 
make  matters  worse,  it  rained  all  the  time,  until  he 
exclaimed  in  despair  that  the  Highlands  appeared  to 
brew  nothing  but  whisky  and  bad  weather.  It  was  a 
constant  matter  of  dispute  between  him  and  Klinge- 
mann whether  the  wet  should  be  called  rain  or  mist. 
There  were  no  beds  on  the  boat,  and  the  passengers  lay 


:^^mm::'^'mmmmm^mi 


m^/Vv 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  153 

about  like  herrings.  Klingemann  tells  that  when  half 
asleep  he  tried  to  drive  away  the  flies  from  his  face  and 
found  that  he  was  tearing  at  the  grizzly  locks  of  an  old 
Highlander.  Discomforts  of  various  kinds  attended 
them  till  they  got  to  Glasgow,  but  in  spite  of  it  all, 
Mendelssohn  hugely  enjoyed  himself.  In  one  of  his 
Glasgow  letters  he  says  :  "It  is  no  wonder  that  the 
Highlands  have  been  called  melancholy.  But  two 
fellows  have  wandered  merrily  about  them,  laughed 
at  every  opportunity,  rhymed  and  sketched  together, 
growled  at  one  another  and  at  the  world  when  they 
happened  to  be  vexed  or  did  not  find  anything  to  eat ; 
devoured  everything  eatable  when  they  did  find  it,  and 
slept  twelve  hours  every  night.  These  two  were  we, 
who  will  not  forget  it  as  long  as  we  live."  Nor  has  the 
musical  world  forgotten  it,  for  if  it  had  not  been  for  that 
tour  of  1829,  we  should  not,  as  already  indicated,  have 
had  the  Scotch  Symphony  and  the  Hebrides  overture. 

The  Scottish  tour  was  almost  immediately  followed 
by  a  tour  in  Italy.  There  were  other  wanderings,  in- 
cluding a  visit  to  Paris,  where,  to  use  his  own  expres- 
sion, Mendelssohn  "  cast  himself  thoroughly  into  the 
vortex."  He  was  never  in  love  with  Paris  and  its  musical 
ways,  any  more  than  Mozart.  Parisians,  he  complained, 
were  ignorant  of  Beethoven,  and  "  believed  Bach  to  be 
a  mere  old-fashioned  wig  stuffed  with  learning."  When 
he  met  Chopin  in  1834  his  criticism  was  that  Chopin 
"  laboured  a  little  under  the  Parisian  love  for  effect 
and  strong  contrasts,  and  often  lost  sight  of  time,  and 
calmness,  and  real  musical  feeling."    It  was,  however, 


154  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  Paris  that  Chopin,  Berlioz,  Hiller,  and  Mendelssohn, 
all  of  similar  age,  might  have  been  seen  arm-in-arm, 
promenading,  and  enjoying  life  to  the  full. 

This  period  of  Mendelssohn's  career  produced  the 
Walpurgis  Night,  the  great  Symphony  in  A  major,  the 
Melusine  overture,  and  the  first  of  those  famous  "  Songs 
without  Words"  which  have  been  the  companions 
of  all  lovers  of  classical  piano  music  since  they  were 
first  published.  Piano  music,  when  Mendelssohn  began 
writing  them,  was  mostly  given  over  to  mechanical 
dexterity.  Musical  claptraps,  skips  from  one  end  of 
the  keyboard  to  the  other,  endless  shakes  and  arpeggios 
— that  was  the  kind  of  thing  in  vogue.  Mendelssohn's 
aim  in  these  Lieder  ohne  Worte  was  to  restore  the  ill- 
treated  piano  to  its  dignity  and  rank  ;  and  with  what 
success  he  carried  out  his  purpose,  every  pianist  knows. 
The  name,  Lieder  ohne  Worte,  was  Mendelssohn's  own. 
The  English  equivalent  was  not  settled  without  diffi- 
culty. The  first  book  was  published  in  1832,  with  the 
title  of  Original  Melodies  for  the  Pianoforte.  It  is 
astonishing  to  recall  the  fact  that  this  first  book  took 
four  years  to  reach  a  sale  of  1 14  copies.  It  was  Mos- 
cheles  who  found  a  publisher  for  it,  and,  foreseeing 
its  value,  arranged  for  a  royalty  for  the  composer. 
Mendelssohn,  a  year  later,  feared  that  his  share  would 
not  amount  to  sixpence,  but  the  publisher's  books  a 
few  weeks  after  this  time  show  that  he  received  ;£"4  :  i6s. 
as  royalty  on  forty-eight  copies  sold. 

In  1833  Mendelssohn  was  appointed  "Municipal 
Music  Director"  at  Dusseldorf,  and  it  was  there  that 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  155 

he  began  his  oratorio  SL  Paul,  a  work  which  has  been 
quite  eclipsed  in  popularity  by  the  companion  ElijaJi. 
The  Diisseldorf  engagement  formed  really  the  starting- 
point  in  his  professional  career.    Hitherto  home  influ- 
ences had  prevailed  ;  now  he  was  to  be  dependent  on 
himself.    Unfortunately  he  did  not  find  the  Diisseldorf 
duties  agreeable.    He  complained  that  by  four  in  the 
afternoon  half  the  town  was  drunk,  so  that  he  had  to 
do  all  his  business  in  the  morning.    And  the  band  was 
far  from  being  to  his  mind.    "  I  assure  you,"  he  wrote 
to  Hiller,  "  that,  at  the  beat,  they  all  come  in  separ- 
ately, not  one  with  any  decision,  and  in  the  piano  the 
flute  is  always  too  loud  ;  and  not  a  single  Diisseldorfer 
can  play  a  triplet  clearly,  but  all  play  a  quaver  and  two 
semiquavers,  and  every  allegro  leaves  off  twice  as  fast 
as  it  began,  and  they  carry  their  fiddles  under  their 
coats  when  it  rains,  and  when  it  is  fine  they  don't 
cover  them  at  all.    If  you  once  heard  me  conduct  this 
orchestra,  not  even  four  horses  could  bring  you  there 
a  second  time."    This  takes  a  very  humorous  view  of 
the  situation,  but  Mendelssohn  found  it  anything  but 
humorous ;  and  it  was  a  great  relief  to  him  when  he 
was  appointed  conductor  of  the  famous  Gewandhaus 
concerts  at  Leipzig.    Here  the  conditions  were  entirely 
congenial,  and  he  went  on  with  his  work  in  the  best 
of  spirits,  the  musical  idol  of  the  town. 

Still,  there  was  something  wanting  to  complete 
his  happiness.  He  wanted  a  wife.  In  1836  he  went 
to  Frankfort  on  a  professional  engagement,  and  an 
engagement  of  another  kind  soon  followed.    It  was  by 


156  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

the  merest  chance  that  he  met  C6cile  Jeanrenaud,  who 
was  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman  of  the  French  Re- 
formed Church  ;  and  the  fact  that  he  had  fallen  in  love 
at  first  sight  suggested  caution  to  his  prudent  mind. 
He  would  test  his  feelings  by  going  away  for  a  month. 
If  he  were  then  still  in  love,  he  would  propose.  The 
result  of  the  test  we  can  gather  from  the  following 
letter  of  September  1836,  addressed  to  his  mother  :  "  I 
have  only  this  moment  returned  to  my  home,  but  I  can 
settle  to  nothing  till  I  have  written  to  tell  you  that  I 
have  just  been  accepted  by  Cecile.  My  head  is  quite 
giddy ;  it  is  already  late  at  night,  and  I  have  nothing 
else  to  say  ;  but  I  must  write  to  you,  I  feel  so  rich  and 
happy.  To-morrow  I  will,  if  I  can,  write  a  long  letter, 
and  so,  if  possible,  will  my  dear  betrothed." 

Mendelssohn  nearly  lost  his  head  with  blissful  ex- 
citement. The  marriage  took  place  in  March  1837,  and 
during  the  honeymoon  Mendelssohn  expressed  himself 
as  more  ecstatic  than  ever.  As  bad  luck  would  have  it, 
he  had  to  tear  himself  away  from  his  wife  and  start  for 
England  to  conduct  his  St.  Paul  at  the  Birmingham 
Festival.  And  this  is  how  he  growls,  writing  to  Hiller 
from  London  :  "  Here  I  sit  in  the  fog,  very  cross,  with- 
out my  wife,  writing  you  because  your  letter  of  the  day 
before  yesterday  requires  it,  otherwise  I  should  hardly 
do  so,  for  I  am  much  too  cross  and  melancholy  to-day. 
I  must  be  a  little  fond  of  my  wife,  because  I  find  that 
England  and  the  fog,  and  beef  and  porter,  have  such 
a  horribly  bitter  taste  this  time,  and  I  used  to  like  them 
so  much." 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  157 

Mendelssohn's  married  life  was  supremely  happy. 
His  beautiful,  gentle,  sensible  wife  spread  a  charm  over 
the  whole  household,  which  enabled  him  to  throw  off 
such  professional  outside  worries  as  beset  him  during 
his  short,  strenuous  career.  Everybody  who  met  her 
praised  Frau  Mendelssohn.  When  Moscheles  paid  his 
first  visit  to  the  pair,  he  wrote  :  "  Mendelssohn's  wife 
is  very  charming,  very  unassuming  and  child-like,  but 
not  in  my  judgment  a  perfect  beauty,  because  she  is 
a  blonde."  So  many  men,  so  many  ideas  of  female 
beauty !  The  Leipzig  home  looked  out  upon  the  St. 
Thomas  school  and  church,  once  the  scene  of  Bach's 
labours.  This  was  probably  no  accident,  for  Mendels- 
sohn's reverence  for  Bach  was  profound.  He  revived 
the  Matthew  Passion  at  Berlin  when  he  was  only 
twenty.  During  his  visits  to  London,  he  was  con- 
stantly preaching,  playing,  or  talking  about  Bach.  His 
performances  of  the  organ  preludes  and  fugues  at  various 
London  churches,  and  at  the  Birmingham  Festival, 
aroused  great  interest.  It  was  he,  too,  who  was  chiefly 
instrumental  in  raising  the  Leipzig  monument  to  the 
memory  of  Bach.  Mendelssohn,  in  fact,  "  restored 
Bach  to  a  world  that  had  forgotten  him  for  a  hundred 
years,"  and  this  service  alone  was  an  immortality. 

Leipzig  remained  Mendelssohn's  home  until  1841, 
when,  at  the  instance  of  the  recently-crowned  Frederick 
William  IV.,  he  went  to  Berlin  as  prospective  musical 
director  of  an  Academy  of  Arts.  Prospective,  for  the 
thing  was  still  in  the  air  ;  where,  so  far  as  Mendelssohn 
was  concerned,  it  remained.   He  had  never  liked  Berlin ; 


158  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

and  as  the  Academy  arrangements  were  still  in  a  state 
of  chaos,  he  returned  to  Leipzig  after  a  year's  waiting. 
About  this  time  the  King  bestowed  on  him  the  Order 
of  Merit,  a  distinction  which  he  valued  very  lightly. 
One  day  he  was  walking  with  some  friends  across  the 
bridge  at  Offenbach.  One  of  them  stayed  behind  to 
pay  toll  for  the  rest.  "  Is  not  that  the  Mr.  Mendelssohn 
whose  music  we  sing  at  our  Society  ?  "  asked  the  toll- 
keeper.  "  It  is."  ''  Then,  if  you  please,  I  will  pay  the 
toll  for  him  myself."  When  Mendelssohn  was  informed 
of  the  incident,  he  said  :  "  H'm  !  I  like  that  much  better 
than  the  King's  Order."  The  composer  made  one  more 
attempt  to  create  a  home  in  Berlin,  when,  by  the  death 
of  his  father  and  mother,  the  old  family  house  became 
his  property.  But  again  he  found  it  would  not  work. 
"  The  first  step  out  of  Berlin  is  the  first  step  towards 
happiness,"  he  wrote,  after  trying  it  for  a  reasonable 
time.  The  prophet  was  without  honour  where  his 
youth  had  been  spent. 

Shortly  after  his  return  to  Leipzig — the  date  was 
April  1843 — Mendelssohn  was  able  to  realise  his  long- 
cherished  project  of  founding  a  Conservatorium  for  the 
town.  He  did  not  live  to  see  the  full  results  of  his  in- 
ception, but  the  fame  of  the  Leipzig  Conservatorium 
has  long  been  known  to  musical  Europe  and  to  America 
as  well.  Mendelssohn  had  plenty  to  do  at  the  institu- 
tion, for  he  was  its  virtual  head,  as  well  as  one  of  the 
professors.  Yet,  all  the  time  he  was  going  on  with 
his  compositions — with  the  Lobgesang^  and  the  Festge- 
sang,  from  which  is  derived  the  tune  for  "  Hark  !  the 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  159 

herald  angels  sing";  with  the  music  for  the  Midsummer 
Night's  DreamyWith.  its  ever-popular ''  Wedding  March  " ; 
with  Athalie  and  its  famous  *'  War  March  of  the 
Priests,"  and  with  many  other  things  besides.  At  the 
date  we  have  reached,  the  great  oratorio  of  ElijaJi  was 
approaching  completion.  It  was  written  specially  for 
the  Birmingham  Musical  Festival,  where  the  composer 
conducted  the  first  performance  in  August  1846.  How 
it  was  received  we  learn  from  Mendelssohn  himself 
"  No  work  of  mine,"  he  wrote  to  his  brother,  "  ever 
went  so  admirably  the  first  time,  or  was  received  with 
such  enthusiasm  by  both  the  musicians  and  the  audi- 
ence." When  the  Festival  was  over  he  returned  to 
London,  *'  on  purpose  for  a  fish  dinner  at  Lovegrove's"; 
spent  a  few  days  at  Ramsgate  ''  to  eat  crabs,"  and  was 
back  in  Leipzig  about  the  middle  of  September. 

Elijah  was  Mendelssohn's  last  work  :  it  killed  him, 
just  as  the  Creation  killed  Haydn.  He  had  overworked 
his  never  too  robust  frame,  and  in  his  exhausted  state 
the  death  of  his  beloved  sister  Fanny  came  to  add  to 
his  prostration.  He  conducted  a  few  of  the  Leipzig 
concerts,  but  his  doctor  forbade  him  to  play  any  more 
in  public.  He  fell  into  a  profound  melancholy,  roaming 
about  the  fields  for  hours  alone,  or  writing  letters  to 
friends  bewailing  his  lot.  Everybody  saw  how  it  must 
end.  One  evening,  while  accompanying  a  lady  at  the 
piano,  he  became  insensible,  and  was  carried  home  to 
his  family.  A  cerebral  attack  followed,  and  on  the 
4th  of  November  1847  he  breathed  his  last,  in  the 
presence  of  his  disconsolate  wife  and  children  (five  had 


i6o  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

been  born  to  him)  and  a  few  cherished  friends.  Thus 
was  another  great  niusician  cut  off  in  the  meridian  ot 
life. 

Mendelssohn  was  one  ot  the  most  lovable  of  men, 
gentle  as  his  music,  pure  as  the  mountain  stream.  He 
had  nothing  Bohemian  about  him.  Weaknesses  he 
had,  no  doubt,  but  they  were  lovable  too.  He  had 
little  coaxing  ways  with  his  friends,  which  made  them 
love  him  with  something  of  a  child's  love.  When  in 
company  with  Edward  Devrient,  he  would  sometimes 
pronounce  his  name  with  an  affectionate  and  lingering 
drawl,  "  Ed-e-ward,"  apropos  of  nothing  in  particular. 
He  retained  through  life  something  of  the  impulsive- 
ness and  the  simplicity  of  a  child.  He  had  a  passion 
for  cake  and  sweetmeats.  Next  to  his  own  country- 
men, he  loved  the  English.  Her  Majesty  the  late 
Queen  Victoria  and  Prince  Albert  were  among  his 
warmest  admirers  ;  and  the  story  is  told  of  how  the 
Queen  once  sang  some  songs  to  his  accompaniment 
at  Buckingham  Palace.  She  was  not  satisfied  with  her 
performance,  and  said  to  Mendelssohn  :  "  I  can  do 
better — ask  Lablache  [her  singing  master]  if  I  can't. 
But  I  am  afraid  of  you."  She  asked  Mendelssohn  how 
she  was  to  thank  him  for  accompanying  her.  He  said 
he  would  like  to  see  her  sleeping  children,  and  when 
this  was  granted,  he  kissed  them,  thinking,  we  may  be 
sure,  of  his  own  children  at  home. 

In  person  Mendelssohn  was  small,  but  was  counted 
handsome.  His  look  is  described  as  "  dark  and  very 
Jewish."    He  had  strikingly  large  dark -brown  eyes, 


FELIX  MENDELSSOHN  i6i 

which  became  extraordinarily  bright  and  expressive 
when  he  was  animated.  He  was  perhaps  the  most 
versatile  of  all  the  composers,  for  he  was  an  adept  at 
painting,  billiards, chess,  riding,  swimming,  and  general 
athletics. 

Schumann  called  Mendelssohn  the  Mozart  of  the 
nineteenth  century.  *'  I  look  upon  Mendelssohn,"  he 
said,  "  as  the  first  musician  of  his  time,  and  pay  him 
the  homage  due  to  a  master."  The  musical  world  is 
not  so  enthusiastic  about  Mendelssohn  now.  The 
pendulum  has  swung  to  the  other  side  :  he  was  praised 
too  much  in  his  lifetime,  and  now  he  is  praised  too 
little.  It  has  become  the  fashion  to  decry  his  music  as 
lacking  in  depth.  That  is  not  surprising  in  an  age 
which  puts  Wagner  above  Beethoven  and  prefers  the 
pessimism  of  Tschaikowsky  to  the  optimistic  clarity 
of  Haydn  and  Mozart.  A  modern  young  lady  said 
she  never  played  Mendelssohn  "  because  there  were  no 
wrong  notes " !  But  there  are  still  some  who  do  not 
like  their  composers  to  be  eternally  rushing  through 
the  thorn  bush  of  dissonance,  and  to  such  Mendelssohn 
is  ever  welcome.  As  Sir  George  Grove  said,  there  is 
surely  enough  of  conflict  and  violence  in  life  and  in 
art  without  demanding  more  of  it  from  Mendelssohn. 
When  we  want  to  be  made  unhappy  by  music,  we  can 
turn  to  others.  In  Mendelssohn  we  shall  find  nothing 
that  is  not  at  once  manly  and  refined,  clever  and  pure, 
brilliant  and  solid. 


M 


FREDERIC    CHOPIN: 
THE    POET   OF   THE    PIANO 

He  came  not  with  an  orchestral  army,  as  great  geniuses  are 
wont  to  come.  He  possesses  only  a  little  cohort,  but  it  belongs 
to  him  wholly  and  entirely,  even  to  the  last  hero. — Schumann. 

Frederic  Chopin  is  one  of  the  most  romantic  figures 
in  musical  biography.  He  was  dreamy,  tender,  woman- 
ish, elusive,  and  (what  most  excited  sympathetic  in- 
terest in  him  while  alive),  he  was  a  consumptive  with 
a  bad  cough.  And  just  what  he  was  as  a  man,  that 
he  was  as  a  composer.  In  his  works  are  clearly  mirrored 
his  own  daintiness  and  sensitiveness  ;  his  own  feeling 
for  the  romantic  and  the  beautiful  and  the  triste.  We 
see  in  them  something  of  his  modest,  retiring  nature ; 
something  of  his  ardent  patriotism  as  a  Pole ;  some- 
thing of  his  disregard  for  the  plaudits  of  the  public. 

Nothing  of  the  sombre,  religious  earnestness  of 
Bach  is  there ;  nothing  of  the  fiery,  robust  vigour  of 
Handel ;  nothing  of  the  stately,  heroic  nobility  ot 
Beethoven.  It  is  all  like  the  beauty  of  the  starry 
heavens,  that  cast  their  glitter  upon  the  earth  with  a 
radiant  yet  somewhat  chastened  joy  which  speaks  of 
the  eternal.  To  admire  Chopin's  compositions  bespeaks 

162 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  163 

a  keen  appreciation  of  forms  of  strange  and  wondrous 
loveliness,  like  the  forms  of  Fairyland.  The  player 
who  would  do  him  anything  like  justice  must,  of  course, 
have  executive  ability  of  the  very  highest  order.  But 
Chopin  requires  much  more  than  this.  To  play  him 
and  not  to  sympathise  with  him — not  to  have  some- 
thing of  that  spirit  of  romance  that  shines  out  in  his 
compositions — is  to  court  certain  failure ;  and  that  is 
why  so  many  players  whose  talent  is  chiefly  executive 
have  had  to  give  him  up  and  leave  him  to  the  apprecia- 
tion of  the  far-seeing  few. 

Frederic  Francis  Chopin  was  born  at  a  village  near 
Warsaw,  in  Poland,  on  the  22nd  of  February  18 10. 
He  was  an  only  son,  but  he  had  three  sisters,  one  of 
whom,  the  youngest,  and  Chopin's  favourite,  was  cut 
off  when  only  fourteen.  For  consumption  was  at  work 
in  this  little  family.  Chopin's  father  was  of  French 
extraction,  but  he  had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  the  Poles 
long  before  he  fell  in  love  with  Justina  Krzyzanowska, 
whom  he  married  in  1806.  He  was  very  poor,  though 
gifted  with  a  certain  native  distinction ;  a  man  of 
education  and  refinement.  To  him,  therefore,  the  com- 
poser owed  some  of  his  essential  characteristics,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  delicate  health.  Frederic  Chopin 
was  a  weakly  child  from  the  first.  His  mother,  whom 
he  once  called  his  "  only  love,"  used  to  be  continually 
pleading  with  him  to  wrap  up  carefully.  He  was,  in 
fact,  a  constant  anxiety  to  his  parents ;  but  he  was  a 
quiet  and  thoughtful  boy,  with  the  sweetest  of  disposi- 
tions, and  if  he  suffered  he  seldom  complained. 


1 6+  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

In  his  early  years  he  showed  himself  so  sensitive  to 
music  that  his  father  confided  him  to  the  care  of  one 
Zwyny,  a  passionate  disciple  of  the  great  Bach,  who 
so  advanced   his  pupil's  progress  at  the  piano  that 
before  long  he  became  the  wonder  of  the  drawing- 
rooms  of  Warsaw.  He  was  only  nine  when  he  made  his 
first  public  appearance  and  played  a  concerto.    It  was 
characteristic  of  him  that  on  this  occasion  he  thought 
more  of  his  personal  appearance  than  of  his  pianism. 
His  mother  had  rigged  him  out  to  the  best  advantage  ; 
and  when,  on   his  return,  she  asked  him  what  the 
public  liked  best,  he  replied  innocently  :  "  Oh,  mamma, 
everybody  was  looking  at  my  lace  collar."    His  suc- 
cess at  this  concert  was,  however,  so  marked  that  his 
parents  felt  they  must  prepare  him  for  music  as  a  pro- 
fession ;  and  their  decision  was  presently  supported  by 
Madame  Catalani,  the  great  vocalist,  who  gave  the  boy 
a  watch  with  a  flattering  inscription  in  praise  of  his 
talent. 

The  piano  was  Chopin's  favourite  instrument  from 
the  first.  He  took  to  it,  we  might  say,  as  a  duck  takes 
to  the  water.  To  overcome  its  technical  difficulties  he 
laboured  incessantly.  He  had  a  curious  delight  in  ex- 
tended arpeggios,  and  to  render  them  easy  he  used 
a  stretching  contrivance  of  his  own  which  he  kept 
between  his  fingers  during  the  night.  He  was  more 
fortunate  than  Schumann,  for  the  experiment  evidently 
served  him  well.  Though  he  was  such  a  frail,  delicate 
elf  of  a  boy,  he  never  lacked  vivacity.  The  tricks  he 
played   on  his   sisters   and   his   school -fellows   were 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  165 

innumerable.  He  would  improvise  romances  for  them 
too ;  and  he  was  such  a  good  mimic  that  some  family 
friends  thought  he  should  be  an  actor. 

A  piano  stood  in  his  room,  and  often  during  the 
night  he  would  get  up  and  start  playing,  much  to  the 
wonder  of  the  maid,  who  concluded  that  he  must  be 
silly.  Of  course  he  began  to  compose.  But  he  had 
received  no  lessons  in  composition  ;  so  his  father  now 
sent  him  to  Joseph  Eisner,  the  director  of  Warsaw 
Conservatoire,  to  have  him  drilled  in  the  theoretical 
side  of  his  art.  Eisner  proved  just  the  right  man. 
Most  teachers  of  that  period  were  pedantic  old  fossils, 
who  pinned  their  pupils,  talented  and  untalented  alike, 
down  to  the  stereotyped  rules,  and  chillingly  checked 
all  attempts  at  originality.  Eisner  was  not  a  teacher 
of  that  kind.  When  somebody  observed  to  him  that 
his  pupil  was  not  strict  in  his  observance  of  the  rules, 
Eisner  replied  :  "  Leave  him  alone  ;  he  does  not  follow 
the  common  way  because  his  talents  are  uncommon. 
He  has  a  method  of  his  own,  and  his  works  will 
reveal  an  originality  hitherto  unknown."  Discerning 
prophet !  And  happy  Chopin,  to  have  had  such  a 
liberal-minded  instructor ! 

Chopin  had  been  studying  with  Eisner  for  some 
time  when  his  father  thought  it  would  be  good  for 
him  to  have  a  little  tour  before  settling  down  to  the 
active  practice  of  his  profession.  Warsaw  was  a  small 
place  after  all,  and  could  never  afford  Frederic  the 
opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  celebrated 
artists  or  of  hearing   the    best   performances  of   the 


i66  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

classics.  Thus  a  tour  was  arranged.  Berlin  was  the 
first  place  visited.  There  the  young  artist  heard  a  lot 
of  music,  including  Handel's  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day, 
which  he  said  most  nearly  approached  his  idea  of  the 
sublime.  Remember  he  was  a  very  young  man  then. 
At  a  public  meeting  he  sat  close  to  Mendelssohn,  but 
was  too  shy  to  speak  to  him.  Later,  when  Mendels- 
sohn made  his  acquaintance,  he  bestowed  on  him  the 
significant  name  of  "  Chopinetto." 

After  Berlin,  several  places  were  visited,  though 
their  musical  interests  were  not  absorbing.  In  the 
course  of  his  travels  by  diligence  Chopin  landed  one 
day  at  an  inn  to  find  a  piano  there.  It  was  in  tune 
too  (a  rare  thing  for  an  inn  piano),  and  Chopin  had 
been  itching  to  get  at  an  instrument.  He  now  attacked 
the  keyboard  with  such  enthusiasm  (and  skill)  that 
soon  he  had  all  the  travellers  and  all  the  people  of  the 
inn  around  him.  He  played  on  and  on,  oblivious  of 
everything  and  everybody.  Presently  the  driver  of  the 
coach  came  to  announce  that  time  was  up.  "  Confound 
the  disturber,"  roared  the  innkeeper,  who  had  never 
heard  his  piano  so  played  before.  ''  Let  the  coach 
wait,"  said  some  of  the  travellers  ;  and  Chopin  con- 
tinued his  improvisation.  When  he  had  exhausted 
himself,  they  brought  him  wine  and  cakes,  and  lady 
admirers  "  filled  the  pockets  of  the  carriage  with  the 
best  eatables  that  the  house  contained."  Long  years 
after,  Chopin  would  recall  this  episode  with  the  keenest 
pleasure.  He  said  that  the  highest  praise  bestowed  on 
him  by  the  press  was  nothing  to  the  homage  of  the 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  167 

German  traveller  at  the  inn,  who,  in  his  eagerness  to 
listen,  had  let  his  pipe  go  out. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Chopin  met  Hummel, 
one  of  the  older  classics  of  the  piano,  and  himself  a 
virtuoso  of  front  rank.  Hummel  had  been  a  pupil  of 
Mozart,  and  was  for  some  time  Beethoven's  rival  in 
love.  He  had  naturally  much  interest  for  Chopin, 
whose  style  was  influenced  by  him  in  a  mild  way. 
Paganini,  the  wizard  violinist,  he  heard  about  the  same 
date,  but  Paganini  was  not  much  in  Chopin's  "  line." 
And  then  came  an  important  visit  to  "  the  beautiful 
musical  Vienna."  There  he  was  besieged  with  requests 
to  play  in  public — a  thing  which  evidently  surprised 
him  in  a  city  "  which  can  boast  of  having  heard  a 
Haydn,  a  Mozart,  and  a  Beethoven."  But  play  he  did. 
The  best  accounts  of  the  performances  are  given  by 
himself  in  his  letters  home.  Some,  he  tells,  objected 
that  he  played  too  softly ;  some,  on  the  other  hand, 
were  "quite  enthusiastic  about  the  delicacy  and 
elegance  of  my  execution.  My  manner  of  playing 
pleases  the  ladies."  It  always  did.  One  Vienna  lady 
was,  however,  overheard  remarking  that  it  was  a  pity 
the  youth  had  so  little  presence.  Perhaps  she  would 
rather  have  had  a  tall,  fine,  officer-looking  man  at  the 
piano.  Chopin  gave  a  second  recital,  partly  because 
he  was  asked,  but  partly  also  for  the  curious  reason 
that  people  might  say  in  Warsaw  :  "  He  gave  only  one 
concert  in  Vienna,  so  he  could  not  have  been  much 
liked."  At  any  rate,  Vienna  swelled  its  voice  into  a 
full  chorus  of  approval,  and  Chopin  was  enraptured. 


1 68  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Before  he  left  the  city  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Carl  Czerny,  whose  "exercises"  for  the  piano  have 
tried  young  fingers  for  so  many  generations.  Of  the 
parting  Chopin  meaningly  said  that  Czerny  was 
"  warmer  than  all  his  compositions."  At  Prague  and 
at  Dresden  he  met  more  musical  celebrities,  but 
declined  to  play  for  fear  of  forfeiting  the  renown 
he  had  won  in  Vienna.  And  so  the  little  tour,  the 
Wanderjahre,  ended.  Chopin  had  tasted  of  the  tree  of 
knowledge :  Warsaw  he  could  no  longer  think  of  as 
a  permanent  home. 

Before  he  left  it  a  circumstance  very  usual  with 
young  people  occurred  :  Chopin  fell  in  love.  Though 
he  never  married,  he  was  often  enough  in  love.  Some- 
body says  he  could  fall  in  and  out  of  love  in  an 
evening ;  and  that  a  crumpled  rose-leaf  was  sufficient 
to  induce  frowns  and  capricious  flights.  This  is  an 
exaggeration  ;  but  undoubtedly  Chopin  did  find,  like 
Sterne,  that  it  "  harmonised  the  soul "  to  be  in  love. 
And  perhaps  it  was  good  for  his  music  too.  Goethe's 
flirtations  contributed  something  to  his  artistic  develop- 
ment ;  and  if  Burns  had  not  been  so  frequently 
"  smitten,"  we  should  have  been  without  some  of  his 
finest  songs. 

Chopin's  first  love  was  a  student  at  the  Warsaw 
Conservatoire,  a  certain  Constantia  Gladowska.  Liszt 
(an  authority  on  women)  describes  her  as  "  sweet  and 
beautiful " ;  and  Chopin  himself,  when  he  got  her  to 
sing  at  one  of  his  recitals,  told  that  she  "  wore  a  white 
dress,  and  roses  in  her  hair,  and  was  charmingly  beauti- 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  169 

ful."  For  a  long  time  Chopin  sighed  in  silence.  "  Six 
months  have  passed,"  he  says  in  a  letter,  "  and  I  have 
not  yet  exchanged  a  word  with  her  of  whom  I  nightly 
dream."  And  yet  he  admits  that  she  inspired  the 
Waltz  (Op.  70)  in  D  flat,  as  well  as  the  Adagio  of  the 
F  minor  concerto.  Chopin,  in  fact,  loved  but  lacked 
the  courage  to  speak  out.  Instead,  he  put  his  passion 
on  music  paper  and  played  it.  He  bids  somebody  else 
tell  Constantia  that  '*  so  long  as  my  heart  beats  I  shall 
not  cease  to  adore  her  "  ;  that,  "  even  after  death,  my 
ashes  shall  be  strewn  beneath  her  feet." 

Alas  !  the  course  of  this  love  did  not  go  smoothly. 
Liszt  gushes  thus  over  the  affair :  "  The  tempest, 
which  in  one  of  its  gusts  tore  Chopin  from  his  native 
soil,  like  a  bird  dreamy  and  abstracted,  surprised  by  a 
storm  upon  the  branches  of  a  foreign  tree,  sundered 
the  ties  of  this  first  love,  and  robbed  the  exile  of  a 
faithful  and  devoted  wife,  as  well  as  disinherited  him 
of  a  country."  The  plain  English  of  which  is,  that 
Constantia  gave  her  heart  to  another ;  that  Warsaw, 
in  consequence,  became  to  Chopin  quite  impossible ; 
and  that,  in  the  November  of  1830,  he  left  it  never  to 
return.  Rivers  of  ink  have  been  spilt  over  this  episode 
in  his  early  career,  but  many  of  the  details  are  obscure. 
The  regrettable  thing  is  that  it  should  have  affected 
Chopin's  health.  Stephen  Heller,  passing  through 
Warsaw,  found  him  thin  and  sunken,  and  told  that 
already  the  Warsaw  people  had  marked  him  out  for  an 
early  death.  Concealment  of  his  love  had,  like  a  worm 
i'  the  bud,  as  Shakespeare  says,  fed  on  his  pale  cheeks. 


I70  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

"  1  am  going  out  into  the  wide  world,"  Chopin  wrote, 
just  before  saying  good-bye  to  his  home  for  ever — going 
out  "  with  the  keyboard  and  a  brain  full  of  beautiful 
music  as  his  only  weapons."  The  parting  with  his 
family  was  sad  enough.  The  father  he  saw  once  more 
in  life ;  the  mother  he  never  saw,  though  she  outlived 
him  by  ten  years.  At  Wola,  a  village  beyond  Warsaw, 
a  romantic  incident  occurred.  His  old  master  Eisner, 
with  all  the  pupils  of  the  Warsaw  Conservatoire,  met 
him,  sang  a  cantata  composed  for  the  occasion,  and 
presented  him  with  a  silver  gohX^V  filled  with  Polish 
soil.  That  same  soil  was,  after  a  few  short  years,  to  be 
strewn  on  his  coffin  in  the  cemetery  of  Pere  la  Chaise, 
at  Paris. 

It  was  Paris  that  Chopin  now  settled  in,  though  he 
had  no  definite  idea  of  his  destination  when  he  left 
Warsaw.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  made  visits  to  Breslau 
and  Dresden  and  Vienna  and  other  places  before  finally 
deciding  for  Paris.  He  was  in  Vienna  when  Warsaw 
rose  in  revolt  against  the  Russians,  and  his  patriotism 
prompted  a  shouldering  of  arms  on  behalf  of  his 
country.  Writing  from  Vienna,  he  appeals  to  a  friend  : 
"  Shall  I  go  to  Paris  ?  Shall  I  return  home  ?  Shall  I 
stay  here?  Shall  I  kill  myself?"  It  was  just  like 
Chopin  to  be  so  undecided.  But  the  Fates  had  decided 
for  him.  In  the  September  of  1831  Warsaw  was 
captured  by  the  Russians  ;  and  in  October  Chopin 
was  in  Paris,  a  youth  still  under  twenty-two,  lament- 
ing his  country's  downfall,  and  wondering  what  had 
happened  to  the  beloved    Constantia.    How  he  felt 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  171 

about  Poland's  fate  he  has  expressed,  so  far  as  music 
can  express  such  feelings,  in  the  magnificent  Etude  in 
C  minor  (Op.  10,  No.  12),  which  has  been  well  described 
as  one  of  the  truest  and  saddest  utterances  of  despair- 
ing patriotism. 

But  what  was  Chopin  to  do  in  Paris,  now  that  he 
was  there  ?  Well,  first  of  all  he  had  to  prove  himself 
as  a  pianist,  and  to  perfect  his  technique.  Kalkbrenner, 
whose  works  nobody  plays  now,  was  at  that  time  the 
leading  teacher  of  the  piano  in  Paris,  and  to  him  Chopin 
went  to  consult  about  lessons.  Kalkbrenner  heard  him 
play,  and  then  said  he  must  study  with  him  for  three 
years.  He  objected,  it  seems,  to  such  "  unconstitutional 
effects "  as  Chopin  was  in  the  habit  of  producing  by 
using  his  third  finger  for  his  thumb,  and  other  equally 
trifling  matters  of  technique.  These  old  masters  found, 
one  suspects,  that  they  could  not  play  Chopin,  and  so 
they  decried  him.  Moscheles,  another  virtuoso  of  the 
period,  says  in  one  of  his  letters  :  "  I  am  a  sincere 
admirer  of  Chopin's  originality ;  he  produces  the 
newest  and  most  attractive  piano  work.  But  personally 
I  object  to  his  artificial  and  often  forced  modulations  ; 
my  fingers  stick  and  stumble  at  such  passages,  and 
practise  them  as  I  will,  I  never  play  them  fluently." 
That  last  remark  lets  us  into  the  secret,  for  Moscheles 
admitted  when  he  heard  Chopin  himself  that  what  his 
fingers  could  not  master  ceased  to  offend  when  Chopin's 
own  delicate  hands  manipulated  the  keys. 

At  any  rate,  three  years  was  too  long  a  time  for 
Chopin  to  give  up  to  Kalkbrenner.    He  had  his  living 


172  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

to  make,  and  he  decided  to  perfect  his  technique  by 
himself.  Meanwhile,  he  would  give  Paris  a  taste  of 
his  powers  by  a  public  recital.  The  recital  came  off  in 
February  1832,  and  though  the  audience  was  small  the 
artistic  success  was  great.  Mendelssohn  was  present 
and  **  applauded  furiously."  Chopin  made  no  money 
by  the  concert,  but  he  made  a  reputation — a  reputation 
which  was  further  enhanced  by  a  second  recital  in  May. 
Still,  his  path  was  far  from  being  clear.  Fame  was  all 
very  well,  but  fame  would  not  feed  and  clothe  him. 
His  finances  were  running  low,  and  his  spirits  went 
down  with  them.  "  My  health,"  he  wrote,  "  is  very  bad. 
I  appear,  indeed,  merry,  especially  when  I  am  among 
my  fellow-countrymen  ;  but  inwardly  something  tor- 
ments me — a  gloomy  presentiment,  unrest,  bad  dreams, 
sleeplessness,  yearning,  indifference  to  everything, 
to  the  desire  to  live  and  the  desire  to  die."  In  this 
melancholy  mood,  he  conceived  the  mad  idea  of 
emigrating  to  America.  Imagine  Chopin,  the  musical 
dreamer,  in  dollar-land  !  Then  a  fortunate  incident 
happened  which  turned  the  tide  in  his  affairs. 

Prince  Radziwill  took  him  to  a  soiree  at  the 
Rothschilds'.  He  was  asked  to  play,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  he  played  so  superbly  that  he  was  not 
only  overwhelmed  with  compliments,  but  was  promised 
several  good-paying  pupils  on  the  spot.  After  that,  he 
speedily  came  to  the  front,  both  in  society  and  as  a 
teacher.  Pupils  flocked  to  him ;  he  had  invitations  from 
all  the  grandees ;  distinguished  people  called  at  his 
rooms;  and  concert  managers  struggled  for  his  services. 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  173 

**  All  the  Frenchwomen  dote  on  him,"  said  one.  **  He  is 
the  fashion,  and  we  shall  no  doubt  shortly  have  gloves 
a  la  Chopin.'''  Chopin  himself  wrote  :  *'  I  move  in  the 
highest  circles  and  I  don't  know  how  I  got  there." 
Thus  was  the  young  Pole  launched  on  his  career  of 
popularity  in  Paris.  The  popularity  never  waned,  and 
he  had  as  much  teaching  as  he  could  get  through  : 
up  at  least  to  the  time  of  the  Revolution,  when  the 
Parisians  had  something  else  to  think  of  than  music 
lessons. 

Chopin  would  fain  have  lived  quietly,  if  that  had 
been  possible,  which  it  was  not.  His  friends  and 
admirers  would  not  leave  him  in  peace,  and  would 
often  invade  his  rooms  in  a  body.  The  mere  fact  of 
his  being  a  Pole  brought  him  irksome  and  uninvited 
attentions,  for  Paris  was  greatly  in  sympathy  with  the 
Poles  at  this  time.  "  Vivent  les  Polonais  ! "  the  mob 
would  cry  when  they  identified  a  prominent  Pole  on 
the  streets.  Chopin  was  already  beginning  to  show 
unmistakable  signs  of  the  chest  trouble  which  ulti- 
mately cut  him  off,  and  this  made  him  more  than  ever 
an  object  of  tender  interest  to  the  fair  sex.  Of  passing 
fancies  he  had  several,  and  we  need  not  dwell  on  them. 
But  one  fancy  which  was  more  than  passing  we  must 
dwell  on.  Chopin's  connection  with  Madame  Dudevant, 
the  French  novelist,  better  known  as  "  George  Sand," 
was,  in  some  respects,  romantic  enough.  George  Sand 
was  already  a  wife  and  a  mother,  living  in  Paris  apart 
from  her  husband,  when  Chopin  met  her.  One  would 
have  said  there  could  be  no  attraction  between  these 


174  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

two,  tlieir  tastes  and  temperaments  being  so  different. 
We  know  what  Chopin  was  :  dainty,  neurotic,  tender  as 
a  woman,  dreamy,  slim  of  frame  ;  a  man  whose  whole 
appearance   made   those  who   saw  him   think  of  the 
convolvuli,  which,  on  the  slenderest  of  stems,  balance 
divinely-coloured  chalices  of  such  vaporous  tissues  that 
the  slightest  touch  destroys  them.   Contrast  this  with 
George   Sand.    To   begin   with,  she  was   not  pretty. 
Liszt    speaks  of  her   "masculine  countenance."    De 
Musset   says  she  was  "  brown,   pale,   and   dull  com- 
plexioned."    Others  describe  her  as  short  and  stout, 
dark  and  swarthy,  with  "  a  thick  and  unshapely  nose 
of  the  Hebraic  cast,  a  coarse  mouth,  and  a  small  chin." 
Balzac,  the  novelist,  wrote  that  her  dominant  character- 
istics were  those  of  a  man ;  that  she  was  "  not  to  be 
regarded  as  a  woman."   We  know  that  she  often  wore 
men's  clothes,  and  as  often  smoked  "  enormously  thick 
Trabucco  cigars."    Chopin  was  very  doubtful  about 
her  when  first  introduced.    "  What  a  repellent  woman 
that  Sand  is  !  "  he  remarked  to  Ferdinand  Hiller.    "But 
is  she  really  a  woman  ?  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  it." 
Writing  to  a  friend,  he  said  :  "  Yesterday  I  met  George 
Sand.    She  made  a  very  disagreeable  impression  on 
me."   Yet  this  was  the  woman  who,  according  to  most 
of  the  biographers,  broke  Chopin's  heart  and  directly 
caused  his  early  death.    As  Liszt  puts  it,  she  "  inspired 
the  frail  and  delicate  Chopin  with  an  intensity  of  ad- 
miration which  consumed  him,  as  a  wine  too  spirituous 
shatters  the  fragile  vase." 

It  would  take  a  long  time  to  tell  the  story  in  full. 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  175 

It  must  suffice  to  say  that  George  Sand,  falling  in  love 
with  her  hero,  pretended  to  the  world  that  she  was 
only  looking  after  him  in  a  motherly  way ;  nursing 
him  through  the  winter,  when  his  malady  was  most 
troublesome,  and  relieving  him  from  the  worries  of 
business  and  household  affairs,  against  which  his  artistic 
nature  rebelled.  She  carried  him  off,  contrary  to 
medical  advice,  to  an  island  in  the  Mediterranean, 
where  he  was  nearly  brought  to  death's  door,  and  where 
the  fatigue  of  tending  him  became  so  much  more  pro- 
nounced than  the  pleasure  of  flirting,  that  her  attach- 
ment began  to  wane.  Back  in  Paris,  she  complained 
more  and  more  of  the  tiresomeness  of  her  self-imposed 
task  ;  and  in  the  end  there  was  a  complete  rupture, 
after  eight  years  of  what  she  called  "  maternal  devo- 
tion." Unfortunately  the  love  had  burnt  itself  out  on 
one  side  only :  to  the  very  last  Chopin  would  have 
died  for  this  woman  who  had  been  the  unworthy  object 
of  one  of  the  most  consuming  passions  which  nine- 
teenth-century romance  gave  birth  to.  "  All  the  cords 
that  bound  me  to  life  are  broken,"  he  would  pensively 
remark. 

After  the  separation,  the  grief  and  agitation  of  his 
mind,  combined  with  his  physical  weakness,  brought 
him  almost  to  the  gates  of  death.  But  he  got  a  little 
better  for  a  time,  and  when  the  Revolution  broke 
out,  in  1848,  he  was  able  to  start  for  England,  where 
he  hoped  to  make  some  much-needed  money.  Still, 
he  was  in  a  wretched  state  of  health.  People  were 
positively  pained  to  see  him.    At  Lord    Falmouth's 


176  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

he  "  came  into  the  room  bent  double,  and  with  a 
distressing  cough.  He  looked  like  a  revived  corpse." 
At  Broadwood's  piano  saloons  he  had  to  be  carried 
upstairs,  being  unequal  to  the  exertion.  For  all  this, 
when  he  sat  down  to  the  instrument  he  played,  as  we 
are  told,  "  with  extraordinary  strength  and  animation." 
He  gave  some  public  recitals,  and  played  at  Court 
after  being  presented  to  the  Queen. 

He  went  to  Scotland  for  recitals  in  Edinburgh  and 
Glasgow  (he  played  in  Manchester  too),  but  the  climate 
was  too  severe  for  him,  and  the  kindly-meaning  people 
CTave  him  no  rest.    In  one  letter  he  writes  :  ''  I  have 

o 

played  at  a  concert  in  Glasgow  before  all  the  haute 
volee.  To-day  I  feel  very  much  depressed — oh,  this 
fog !  Although  the  window  at  which  I  am  writing 
commands  the  most  splendid  view  in  Scotland,  I  can 
see  nothing  except  when  the  sun  breaks  momentarily 
through  the  mist.  I  feel  weaker  and  weaker,  and  can- 
not compose,  not  from  want  of  inclination,  but  from 
physical  causes  ;  and  besides,  I  am  in  a  different  place 
every  week.  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  must  at  least 
lay  by  something  for  the  winter."  Pathetic  it  is  to 
think  of  this  "  revived  corpse  "  dragging  himself  about 
to  play  for  a  fee  that  any  of  the  great  recital  pianists 
nowadays  would  scorn.  At  Glasgow  and  at  Man- 
chester Chopin  was  paid  just  £60. 

Tired,  ill,  distracted,  hopeless  about  the  future,  he 
was  soon  on  his  way  to  Paris,  resolved  that  he  would 
appear  no  more  in  public.  Alas  !  it  was  a  needless  re- 
solve.   The  seeds  of  consumption  had  lain  too  long  in 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  177 

his  frail  frame,  and  in  a  few  months  he  was  stretched 
on  the  bed  from  which  he  was  never  more  to  rise. 
As  his  last  hour  approached  he  asked  the  Countess 
Potocka  to  sing  something.  Mastering  her  emotion, 
she  sang  Stradella's  Hymn  to  the  Virgin.  "  Oh,  how 
beautiful !  My  God,  how  beautiful !  Again  !  again  ! " 
exclaimed  the  dying  composer.  Evening  closed  in, 
and  the  next  morning,  feeling  a  little  better,  he  asked 
the  last  Sacrament  and  confessed  to  a  Polish  priest. 
To  those  around  him  he  gave  his  blessing,  and  with 
one  sigh  closed  his  eyes  on  the  world.  Many  a  tear 
was  shed  when  his  death  became  known,  for  he  was 
beloved  by  a  wide  circle  of  friends.  According  to  an 
old  custom,  he  was  laid  in  the  grave  in  the  clothes  he 
wore  at  his  recitals,  and  over  his  coffin  was  emptied 
the  goblet  of  Polish  earth  which  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  that  parting  scene  outside  Warsaw.  Thus 
passed  away,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-nine,  the  greatest 
creative  musician  that  Poland  has  ever  given  to  the 
world.  He  was  laid  to  rest  in  Pere  la  Chaise.  Near 
by  is  the  splendid  mausoleum  of  Rossini,  inscribed  in 
gold  letters  with  the  simple  name  of  the  composer. 
Higher  up  is  the  musicians'  corner,  where  lie  Cherubini, 
Harold,  and  Boieldieu.  Chopin  has  a  white  marble 
statue  bearing  the  inscription :  "  Frederic  Chopin. 
Erected  by  his  Friends."  He  sleeps,  but  his  works  will 
live  for  ever. 

Those  who  have  read  thus  far  will  already  know 
Chopin  the  man.  He  was,  let  it  be  repeated,  exactly 
like  his  compositions.    Pauer  says  truly  that  he  never 

N 


178  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  his  life  wrote  a  bar  of  music  that  contained  a  vulgar 
idea.  And  there  was  nothing  vulgar  about  himself. 
That  same  sense  of  refinement  and  delicacy  that  we 
experience  in  listening  to  a  sympathetic  rendering  of 
his  best  works  is  just  what  every  one  who  met  him 
seems  to  have  found  to  be  his  characteristics  as  a 
man.  He  liked  having  fine,  neat  clothes ;  he  liked 
flowers  always  in  his  rooms ;  he  disliked  smoking. 
These  are  details  upon  which  we  may  found.  Nobody 
knew  him  better  than  George  Sand,  and  her  descrip- 
tion is  therefore  worth  quoting.     She  says  : 

Gentle,  sensitive,  and  very  lovely,  he  united  the 
charm  of  adolescence  with  the  suavity  of  a  more  mature 
age  ;  through  the  want  of  muscular  development  he  re- 
tained a  peculiar  beauty,  and  exceptional  physiognomy, 
which,  if  we  may  venture  s©  to  speak,  belonged  to  neither 
age  nor  sex.  It  was  like  the  ideal  creations  with  which 
the  poetry  of  the  Middle  Ages  adorned  the  Christian 
temples.  The  delicacy  of  his  constitution  rendered  him 
interesting  in  the  eyes  of  women.  The  full  yet  grateful 
cultivation  of  his  mind,  the  sweet  and  captivating  originality 
of  his  conversation,  gained  for  him  the  attention  of  the 
most  enlightened  men,  whilst  those  less  highly  cultivated 
liked  him  for  the  exquisite  courtesy  of  his  manners. 

To  this  may  be  added  the  picture  drawn  of  him  by 
Liszt,  who  knew  him  well,  and  did  much  to  help  him 
forward  in  his  early  public  career :  "His  blue  eyes 
were  more  spiritual  than  dreamy ;  his  bland  smile 
never  writhed  into  bitterness.  The  transparent  deli- 
cacy of  his  complexion  pleased  the  eye  ;  his  fair  hair 
was  soft  and  silky ;  his  nose  slightly  aquiline ;  his 
bearing  so  distinguished,  and  his  manners  stamped 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  179 

with  such  high  breeding,  that  involuntarily  he  was 
always  treated  like  a  prince.  His  gestures  were  many 
and  graceful ;  the  tones  of  his  voice  veiled,  often 
stifled.    His  stature  was  low,  his  limbs  were  slight." 

These  quotations  not  only  help  us  to  understand 
the  nature  of  the  man  :  they  show  us  also  how  intimate 
is  the  connection  between  what  may  be  called  the 
external  Chopin  and  the  internal  as  exhibited  in  his 
works. 

As  a  player  Chopin  was  always  heard  to  best  ad- 
vantage in  a  small  room  or  building,  and  he  knew 
this  so  well  that  he  had  a  life-long  aversion  to  appear- 
ing in  large  concert  halls.  His  touch,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  style  of  his  music,  was  too  delicate  for  anything 
but  a  small  and  select  company,  who  could  appreciate 
the  poetical  refinement  of  what  Liszt  called  his  "cabinet 
pictures."  *'  I  am  not  suited  for  concert-giving,"  he 
once  said  to  Liszt.  "  I  feel  timid  in  presence  of  the 
public ;  their  breath  stifles  me ;  their  curious  gaze 
paralyses  me."  When  asked  if  he  studied  much  before 
giving  a  concert,  he  would  reply :  "  It  is  a  dreadful 
time  for  me  ;  I  do  not  like  public  life,  but  it  is  part  of 
my  profession."  Schumann  said  that  Chopin  knew 
the  piano  as  no  one  else  did.  Some  called  him  the 
Ariel  of  the  piano ;  some  said  his  playing  reminded 
them  of  the  warbling  of  linnets.  George  Sand  had  a 
pet  name  for  him,  and  it  was  "  Velvet  Fingers."  Such 
was  Chopin  the  man  and  the  player. 

About  Chopin  the  composer,  as  seen  in  his  works, 
a  whole  book  might  be  written,  and  indeed  more  than 


i8o  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

one  book  has  been  written.  His  compositions  are 
absolutely  unique  of  their  kind,  for  Chopin  is  the  poet 
of  the  ^'mno  par  excellence y  and  has  had  neither  imitators 
nor  rivals.  His  finest  works  are  to  be  found  in  the 
smallest  forms,  such  as  the  Nocturne,  the  Mazurka, 
the  Ballade,  and  the  Study.  They  are  all  so  thoroughly 
tinged  with  the  native  sentiment  that  they  seem  to  be 
suggested  by  thoughts  of  that  country  of  his  which 
has  presented  so  many  different  phases  of  character, 
like  every  other  country  struggling  for  its  freedom. 
His  originality  is  very  remarkable ;  he  not  only  in- 
vented new  chords  and  modes  of  treatment,  but  also 
new  forms.  He  was  fond  of  blending  the  major  and 
minor  keys — that  is,  he  applied  unreservedly  to  pieces 
written  in  major  keys  chords  belonging  of  right  to  the 
minor  keys,  and  vice  versa  ;  and  the  amalgamation 
offered  to  him  many  new  and  surprising  harmonic 
effects.  The  Impromptu,  the  Ballade,  and  the  Valse 
de  Salon  are  all  his  creations.  In  his  eighteen  Noc- 
turnes he  gives  us  music  of  great  charm,  and  of  a 
nobility  of  feeling  rarely  met  with.  His  twenty-four 
grand  Studies  are  standard  works,  of  great  beauty  and 
lasting  value,  and  have  not  been  surpassed. 

But  why  labour  a  point  which  every  musical  amateur 
recognises  ?  Rubinstein  said  finely,  and  with  finality  : 
"  The  piano  bard,  the  piano  rhapsodist,  the  piano  mind, 
the  piano  soul  is  Chopin.  Tragic,  romantic,  lyric,  heroic, 
dramatic,  fantastic,  soulful,  sweet,  dreamy,  brilliant 
grand,  simple  :  all  possible  expressions  are  found  in  his 
compositions,  and  all  are  sung  by  him  upon  his  instru- 


FREDERIC  CHOPIN  i8i 

ment."  This  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  Frederic 
Chopin.  He  lived  his  Hfe,  gave  what  was  in  him,  and 
died  with  a  name  destined,  like  the  name  of  Mary- 
Stuart,  to  exert  over  unborn  generations  a  witchery  and 
a  charm  unique  in  the  history  of  his  art. 


RICHARD  WAGNER:  THE  REVOLUTION- 
ARY OF  THE  MUSIC  DRAMA 

There  must  be  a  beyond.  In  Wagner  there  is  none.  He  is  too 
perfect.  Never  since  the  world  began  did  an  artist  realise  him- 
self so  perfectly.   He  achieved  all  he  desired. — GEORGE  MoORE, 

In  a  fit  of  morbid  despair  at  the  apathy  of  the  public, 
Wagner  once  declared  his  music  to  be  "  the  music  of 
the  future."  At  that  time  it  was  emphatically  so  ;  now 
it  is  just  as  emphatically  the  music  of  the  present. 
Fifty  years  ago  Wagner  was  looked  upon  as  practically 
a  musical  madman,  a  charlatan  who  had  arisen  to  throw 
all  established  art  forms  and  traditions  to  the  winds,  to 
trample  under  his  feet  the  hitherto  accepted  great  gods 
of  the  divine  art.  The  pendulum  has  swung  to  the 
other  side,  and  perhaps  we  are  making  too  much  of 
Wagner  now.  But  at  least  we  have  arrived  at  the  point 
of  accepting  him  as  a  colossal  genius  in  his  own  domain, 
the  domain  of  music  drama.  And  whereas  his  con- 
temporaries, for  the  most  part,  imagined  that  he  would 
have  no  place  in  musical  history,  we  are  all  perfectly 
assured  nowikthat  the  future  of  music  can  no  more 
ignore  him  than  it  can  ignore  Beethoven  or  Bach. 
Wagner  altered  the  whole  course  of  modern  opera,  and 

1S2 


RICHARD  WAGNER  183 

founded  a  musical  system  which  it  is  practically  im- 
possible for  later  composers  to  set  aside. 

Richard  Wagner  was  the  youngest  of  a  family  of 
nine  children,  and  was  born  at  Leipzig  on  May  22, 
18 1 3.  His  father,  a  man  of  good  education,  occupied 
some  minor  official  post  in  connection  with  the  police. 
But  Wagner  never  knew  his  father.  Around  his  cradle, 
as  some  one  has  put  it,  was  fought  the  battle  of  the 
nations.  One  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  Germans 
and  Frenchmen  lay  dead  or  dying  in  the  fields  near 
Leipzig  when  the  baby  Richard  was  snuggling  peace- 
fully in  his  cot ;  and  the  epidemic  fever  which  came 
stalking  abroad  to  finish  the  grim  work  of  carnage 
rendered  the  future  composer  fatherless  when  only  five 
months  old.  Frau  Wagner,  left  thus  with  a  big  charge 
and  little  means,  could  hardly  do  better  than  marry 
again.  The  second  husband  was  a  certain  Ludwig 
Geyer,  a  writer  of  plays  and  an  actor  at  the  Dresden 
Theatre ;  and  to  Dresden  therefore  the  Wagners  re- 
moved. Geyer  proved  a  very  good  step-father.  But  he, 
too,  was  cut  off  before  he  could  have  any  real  influence 
on  the  boy,  for  he  died  when  Richard  was  only  ten. 
Still,  as  Sir  Hubert  Parry  says,  it  is  probable  that 
Geyer's  profession  added  strength  to  the  already  strong 
theatrical  influences  which  were  present  in  the  Wagner 
family,  and  thereby  helped  towards  those  favourable 
conditions  which  were  necessary  for  the  achievement  of 
the  special  work  the  boy  was  to  do  in  the  world. 

Most  of  the  great  composers  have  been  prodigies, 
as  we  have  seen.    Wagner  ripened  late,  like  Schumann. 


1 84  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

It  was  literature  that  interested  him  first,  rather  than 
music.  Thus  at  school  he  took  a  fancy  for  Greek,  and 
made  great  progress  in  it.  He  conceived  also  a  vast 
admiration  for  Shakespeare,  and  under  that  influence 
wrote  a  tragedy  himself  when  he  was  fourteen.  A 
wonderful  effort  it  was  :  a  sort  of  mixture  of  "  Hamlet " 
and  "  Lear  "  and  "  Titus  Andronicus."  Forty  -  two 
persons  were  killed  one  after  the  other  long  before  the 
end  ;  and  in  order  to  have  anybody  on  the  stage  some 
of  the  characters  were  brought  back  as  ghosts !  All 
this  time  his  musical  leanings  had  shown  themselves 
only  in  a  very  faint  way.  As  a  child  of  seven  he  used 
to  strum  on  the  piano,  upon  which,  later  on,  his  Latin 
tutor  gave  him  some  lessons,  only  to  predict  that 
musically  he  would  "  come  to  nothing."  It  should  be 
remarked,  however,  that  Wagner  always  hated  the 
piano,  and  never  could  play  it  well.  "  He  could  never 
fondle  a  piano  without  making  it  howl," says  one.  There 
is  a  curious  story  in  illustration,  and  it  introduces  us  to 
Wagner's  first  love,  a  Jewish  beauty  called  Leah  David. 
In  adult  life  Wagner  had  a  fierce  hatred  for  the  Jewish 
race,  but  Jewish  youth  and  beauty  bewitched  him  in 
his  teens.  Leah  had  a  Dutchman  cousin  who  was  a 
pianist,  and  Wagner,  jealous,  criticised  his  playing.  He 
was  invited  to  do  better,  and  did  so  badly  that  he  rushed 
from  the  room  vowing  vengeance  on  the  Dutchman. 
This  put  him  out  with  the  pretty  Jewess,  who  of  course 
married  her  cousin.  "  It  was  my  first  love  sorrow,  and  I 
thought  I  should  never  forget  it,"  said  Wagner. 

When  his  step-father  was  dying,  he  was  heard  to 


^pi^^i^lppSi^f^'^^ 


W  A  G  N  t 


RICHARD  WAGNER  185 

mutter  that  "  something  worth  while  might  be  made 
of  Richard."  Wagner  used  to  repeat  this  with  pride, 
adding  :  "  I  remember  how  I  long  imagined  that  some- 
thing would  be  made  of  me."  But  what  was  the  "  some- 
thing "  to  be  ?  That  remained  uncertain  for  many  a 
day.  It  was  a  hearing  of  one  of  Beethoven's  sym- 
phonies that  practically  brought  about  the  decision. 
"  I  fell  ill  of  a  fever,"  says  Wagner,  speaking  of  this 
turning-point  in  his  career,  "  and  when  I  recovered  I 
was — a  musician."  He  set  to  the  study  of  Beethoven's 
works  in  dead  earnest,  and  it  is  stated  that  he  knew 
them  all  familiarly  before  he  was  twenty.  Early  in  his 
teens  he  heard  Goethe's  Egniont  with  Beethoven's 
incidental  music.  This  inspired  him  with  the  idea 
of  writing  incidental  music  for  his  own  portentous 
tragedy,  mentioned  above.  And  so  the  die  was  cast : 
Richard  would  be  a  composer. 

He  sought  out  a  music  master,  who,  however,  was 
"  not  successful  in  controlling  and  directing  his 
energies."  Richard  experimented  with  various  large 
works,  which,  of  course,  did  not  fit  in  with  the  master's 
views,  and  as  Richard  would  not  brook  adverse 
criticism,  the  two  parted  company.  Richard  had  no 
liking  for  moderate  experiments  :  he  must  try  his  hand 
at  works  on  a  grand  scale.  He  wrote  overtures,  for 
example,  and  one  of  them  he  carried  to  Dorn,  the 
conductor  at  the  Dresden  Theatre  Royal.  It  was  set 
down  in  ink  of  three  different  colours — red  for  the 
string  parts,  green  for  the  wood-winds,  and  black  for 
the  brass.    Dorn  was  kind  enough  to  put  the  thing 


1 86  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  performance,  "  much  to  the  bewilderment  of  the 
audience,"  says  the  biographer. 

Meanwhile,  in  1828,  Wagner  went  back  to  Leipzig, 
to  enter  the  University  there.  Music  was  temporarily 
laid  aside  in  favour  of  classical  studies.  But  only 
temporarily.  He  took  more  lessons,  this  time  from 
an  excellent  musician  called  Weinlich,  cantor  of  that 
same  Thomas  School  with  which  Bach  was  con- 
nected. The  lessons  went  on  for  six  months,  and  then 
Weinlich  told  his  pupil  that  he  had  arrived  at  technical 
independence,  and  might  be  left  to  himself.  This  was 
indeed  the  case,  for  Wagner  had  no  more  formal  in- 
struction in  his  art.  But  he  was  one  of  those  men 
who  develop  slowly.  His  aims  were  very  high,  and  he 
had  to  go  through  an  immense  amount  of  experiment 
before  he  found  out  how  to  express  himself  fully. 

It  would  be  of  no  use  to  speak  at  any  length  of  his 
early  efforts  at  composition,  for  they  are  all  forgotten 
now.  An  opera  was  produced  in  1832,  but  it  was  a 
failure.  Then  Wagner  went  to  Wiirzburg  to  fill  the 
post  of  chorus-master  at  the  theatre  there.  His  next 
attempt  was  a  three-act  opera  called  Die  Feen  (The 
Fairies),  but  neither  the  libretto  (described  by  a  critic 
as  "clotted  nonsense")  nor  the  music  could  make 
the  thing  "  go."  These  experiences  rather  sickened 
Wagner  of  Wurzburg  ;  and  in  1834  he  moved  to 
Magdeburg,  where  he  was  engaged  in  a  similar  capa- 
city at  the  theatre. 

In  1836  he  ''billed"  Magdeburg  with  a  new  opera 
for  performance,  but  the  audience  were  so  disappointed 


RICHARD  WAGNER  187 

with  it  on  the  first  night  that  the  second  representa- 
tion had  to  be  stopped  half-way  through  in  deference  to 
the  empty  benches.  Soon  after  this,  Wagner  got  an 
engagement  as  conductor  at  Konigsberg.  He  had  fallen 
in  love  some  time  before,  and  his  attraction  to  Konigs- 
berg is  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  lady  was  now 
fulfilling  an  engagement  at  the  theatre  there.  For 
Minna  Planer  was  an  actress  :  described  as  pretty  by 
some,  and  as  of  a  "  pleasing  appearance  "  by  others. 
One  painter  said  she  was  "  pretty  as  a  picture  "  but  had 
a  sober,  unimaginative  soul.  The  wedding  followed, 
but  it  soon  became  apparent  that  Minna  was  not  the 
kind  of  mate  Wagner  wanted.  "  I  was  in  love,"  he  said 
afterwards,  "  and  I  persisted  in  getting  married,  thus 
involving  myself  and  another  in  unhappiness."  This  is 
hardly  the  sort  of  book  in  which  to  discuss  Wagner's 
or  any  other  composer's  matrimonial  affairs  in  detail. 
But  much  has  been  written  in  direct  condemnation  of 
Minna  Planer,  and  a  feeling  of  chivalry  dictates  a  mild 
protest. 

When  Wagner  married,  he  was  a  young  man  strug- 
gling with  poverty  and  beaten  down  by  disappointed 
hopes.  By  and  by,  as  his  genius  developed  and  ex- 
panded, he  found  that  he  could  not  get  on  with  Minna, 
and  a  separation  was  the  ultimate  result.  But  Minna 
was  not  solely  to  blame.  Wagner's  biographers  have 
nothing  worse  to  say  of  her  than  that  she  failed  to 
recognise  her  husband's  genius.  But  how  many  much 
better  instructed  and  more  discerning  people  than  a 
popular  actress  was  likely  to  be,  recognised  Wagner's 


i88  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

genius  at  that  time  ?  When  Wagner  married  he  was 
totally  unknown  to  the  great  world  of  music.  How 
should  Minna  Planer  know  that  she  was  sivinor  her 
hand  to  a  man  who,  though  at  present  obscure  and 
impecunious,  would  successfully  fight  against  all  diffi- 
culties, and  whose  works  would,  in  the  distant  future, 
become  not  only  celebrated  but  even  popular  ? 

Let  us  be  fair  to  Minna  Wagner.  That  she  had  not 
the  perception  which  the  Wagner  biographers  demand 
of  her  was  her  misfortune  rather  than  her  fault.  And 
there  is  this  to  be  remembered  to  her  credit,  that  she 
suffered  bravely  and  even  gladly  all  those  terrible  hard- 
ships which  beset  her  husband  during  the  changeful 
years  after  the  marriage.  It  is  recorded  that  she 
pawned  her  jewelry  under  some  domestic  distress. 
Wagner's  diary  reveals  that  in  Paris,  when  he  invited 
a  sick  and  starving  German  to  breakfast,  his  wife 
told  him  there  could  be  no  breakfast  as  there  was  no 
money  in  the  house.  Wagner  used  to  recount  with 
moist  eyes  these  stories  of  his  wife's  self-denial,  and  of 
"the  cheerfulness  with  which  she,  the  pretty  actress 
of  former  days,  cooked  what  meals  there  were  to 
cook,  and  scrubbed  what  clothes  there  were  to  scrub." 
For  those  who  know  all  the  facts  it  is  impossible 
to  refrain  from  sympathising  with  Minna  Wagner, 
thrown  out  at  last  upon  a  cold  world,  to  live  isolated, 
to  die  with  a  shadow  upon  her  name  as  a  wife. 

But  to  return  to  the  date  of  the  marriage,  the  year 
1836.  Wagner's  life  at  this  period  was  necessarily 
Bohemian.     He  had   grand  ideas,  but  no  means  of 


RICHARD  WAGNER  189 

turning  them  into  remunerative  realities.  And  now, 
anchored  to  a  wife,  he  found  his  difficulties  greater 
than  ever.  Always  on  the  move,  we  hear  of  him  next 
at  Riga,  where  he  filled  another  miserable  post  at  the 
theatre.  But  he  had  already  begun  to  look  towards 
Paris,  and  was  indeed  now  composing  the  kind  of 
opera  which  he  supposed  would  bring  him  success 
there.  He  had  read  Bulwer  Lytton's  Rienzi,  and  had 
been  taken  with  the  subject.  The  Parisians,  he  saw, 
were  fond  of  glitter  and  noise,  and  Rienzi  would  be 
exactly  the  thing  for  them. 

In  the  summer  of  1839  this  new  plan  came  to 
maturity,  and  Wagner,  with  his  wife  and  a  big  New- 
foundland dog  (he  had  a  fancy  for  dogs),  started  on 
board  a  sailing  vessel  for  London,  intending  to  make 
his  way  from  thence  to  Paris.  The  voyage  lasted 
nearly  a  month,  for  there  was  a  terrific  storm  on  the 
North  Sea.  Wagner  wrote  afterwards  :  "  The  only 
time  I  ever  went  to  sea,  I  barely  escaped  shipwreck. 
Should  I  go  to  America,  I  am  sure  the  Atlantic  would 
receive  me  with  a  cyclone."  However,  the  delay 
proved  of  ultimate  advantage  to  Wagner,  for,  to  re- 
lieve the  tedium,  he  got  into  talk  with  the  sailors,  and 
they  recalled  to  him  the  story  of  the  Flying  Dutch- 
man, which  was  to  bear  fruit  later.  "  Three  times," 
he  says,  "  we  suffered  from  the  effects  of  heavy  storms. 
The  passage  through  the  Narrows  made  a  wondrous 
impression  on  my  fancy.  The  legend  of  the  Flying 
Dutchman  was  confirmed  by  the  sailors,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances gave  it  a  distinct  and  characteristic  colour 


190  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  my  mind."  We  shall  say  nothing  of  the  London 
visit,  further  than  to  note  that  Wagner  lost  his  dog 
the  day  he  landed.  In  great  distress,  he  ran  about 
asking  everybody  in  broken  English  if  they  had  seen 
the  animal.  Next  day  he  started  off  to  the  Docks  in 
search  of  the  favourite,  but  in  vain.  On  his  return 
to  the  "  King's  Arms,"  Soho,  his  step  was  recognised 
on  the  stairs,  when,  to  Wagner's  delight,  the  dog 
"  burst  into  barkter." 

Wagner  reached  Paris  in  the  autumn,  with  the  MS. 
of  Rienzi  in  his  pocket,  full  of  hope,  but  empty  in 
purse.  He  had  expected  to  get  Rienzi  staged,  and 
thereby  to  win  fame  and  fortune.  Alas  !  the  managers 
of  the  Grand  Opera  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Rieiizi^  and  the  despairing  composer  was  left  face  to 
face  with  a  struggle  for  bare  existence.  First  he  tried 
to  get  a  post  as  a  singer  in  a  small  theatre,  and  was 
told  that  he  could  not  sing.  Next  he  wrote  articles 
for  a  musical  paper  ;  wrote  even  a  couple  of  novelettes. 
A  music  publisher  proved  kindly,  and  engaged  him 
in  "  making  arrangements  for  every  conceivable 
instrument,  even  the  cornet."  In  spite  of  all  this 
drudgery,  Wagner  clung  to  Paris  with  a  kind  of 
desperate  hope.  Professing  to  believe  that  his  non- 
success  with  Rienzi  was  due  to  the  libretto,  he  started 
on  a  new  opera  having  less  of  a  romantic  story  and 
less  of  mere  theatrical  show.  This  was  the  Flying 
DiUchman^  completed  in  seven  weeks.  Unfortunately, 
the  Dutchman  was  no  more  wanted  in  Paris  than 
Rienzi;    and    the   latter   having   by   this   time    been 


RICHARD  WAGNER  191 

accepted  at  Dresden,  where  its  composer  was  better 
known,  Wagner  bade  farewell  to  Paris,  and  in  the 
spring  of  1842  saw  the  German  Rhine  for  the  first 
time,  and  swore  eternal  fealty  to  the  Fatherland. 

The  Dresden  performance  of  Rienzi  duly  came  off. 
It  was  so  successful  that  the  Flying  Dutchman  was 
immediately  accepted,  and  the  composer  himself  made 
conductor  of  the  Dresden  Opera,  at  the  comfortable 
salary  of  ^^250  a  year.  This  was  in  1842,  and  Wagner 
remained  at  Dresden  till  1848.  It  might  have  been 
supposed  that  his  troubles  were  now  practically  ended. 
But  in  reality  they  were  only  beginning.  When  the 
Dutchman  was  performed  at  Dresden  its  reception 
was  lukewarm  and  hesitating.  The  public  could  neither 
understand  it  nor  appreciate  it.  It  was  too  serious  for 
them,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  the  then  prevailing 
style  of  Italian  opera,  with  its  "  glittering  processions, 
splendid  scenery  and  groupings,  and  imposing  action 
coupled  with  brilliant  music."  Berlin  tried  it  in  1844, 
but  with  what  success  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact 
that  not  for  ten  years  after  was  it  once  heard  anywhere 
else.  Wagner  was  dismayed.  "  I  was  in  sufficiently 
ill-humour  to  remain  silent,"  he  said. 

He  did  not  remain  silent,  for  it  was  in  1845  that 
Tamthduser  was  given  for  the  first  time,  again  at 
Dresden.  But  that,  too,  failed  to  bring  him  the  suc- 
cess it  should  have  brought.  The  intellectual  ilite  of 
Dresden  showed  little  sympathy  towards  the  work, 
which,  besides,  provoked  a  storm  of  newspaper  con- 
troversy.   Critics   complained   that    Tannhciuse?'  was 


192  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

totally  destitute  of  melody,  and  musicians  thought  that 
the  breaches  of  technical  rule  made  by  the  composer 
were  outrageous.  A  prominent  London  musical  writer 
ridiculed  it  as  a  chaos  of  absurdities.  Prosper  Merim^e 
declared  that  he  could  compose  something  as  good 
after  hearing  his  cat  walk  over  the  piano  keys.  Rossini 
went  to  a  performance,  and  when  asked  his  opinion 
replied  :  "  It  is  too  important  and  too  elaborate  a  work 
to  be  judged  after  a  single  hearing ;  but  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  I  shall  not  give  it  a  second."  Even  when  the 
now  popular  Overture  was  first  performed  by  the 
London  Philharmonic  in  1855,  the  Times  printed  this 
amazing  criticism  :  "  A  more  inflated  display  of  ex- 
travagance and  noise  has  rarely  been  submitted  to 
an  audience,  and  it  was  a  pity  to  hear  so  magnificent 
an  orchestra  engaged  in  almost  fruitless  attempts  at 
accomplishing  things  which,  even  if  really  practicable, 
would  lead  to  nothing."  Verily,  the  whirligig  of  time 
does  bring  in  its  revenges.  For  some  years  past,  Tann- 
Jiauser  has  been  one  of  the  greatest  draws  in  the 
operatic  repertoire. 

But  Wagner  could  not  foresee  this  in  1845.  R^" 
garding  his  then  state  of  mind  he  wrote  :  "  A  feeling 
of  complete  isolation  came  over  me.  It  was  not  my 
vanity.  I  saw  a  simple  possibility  before  me,  namely, 
to  induce  the  public  to  understand  and  participate  in 
my  aims  as  an  artist."  A  possibility,  indeed,  but  hardly 
a  probability  ;  for  Wagner  was  already  far  away  from 
the  familiar  and  accepted  operatic  path,  and  as  con- 
cession and  compromise  were  not  in  his  nature,  he  was 


RICHARD  WAGNER  193 

again  left  with  his  old  companions  of  defeat  and  despair. 
Still,  he  worked  on.  Lohengrin  was  completed  in  1848, 
and  without  staying  to  consider  as  to  its  future,  he  began 
to  give  his  mind  to  its  successor.  Meanwhile,  the  poli- 
tical troubles  of  the  country  were  occupying  the  atten- 
tion of  the  people.  The  poor  were  crying  out  against 
the  oppressions  of  the  rich,  and  revolutionary  clubs  were 
being  formed  everywhere.  Wagner  was,  as  Liszt  de- 
scribed him,  a  born  reformer,  undaunted  by  blood  or  fire; 
and  no  sense  of  discretion  or  expediency  would  restrain 
him  at  this  juncture.  He  made  red-hot  Republican 
speeches,  and  even,  it  is  said,  fought  at  the  barricades. 

Ultimately,  in  1849,  a  warrant  was  issued  for  his 
apprehension,  which  was  renewed  in  1853,  calling 
upon  all  German  officials  to  "  arrest  Richard  Wagner, 
one  of  the  most  prominent  adherents  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary party,  and  to  deliver  him  up  to  the  Royal 
Court  of  Justice."  The  police  description  gives  us  a 
fair  idea  of  what  the  man  Wagner  was  like.  It  ran  : 
"  Wagner  is  37  to  38  years  old,  of  middle  height,  has 
brown  hair,  wears  glasses ;  open  forehead ;  eyebrows 
brown ;  eyes  grey  blue ;  nose  and  mouth  well  pro- 
portioned ;  chin  round.  Particulars :  in  speaking  and 
moving  he  is  hasty."  The  "  particulars  "  are  slight,  but 
essential.  Animation,  says  a  biographer,  marked  all 
his  ways,  and  at  times  he  revelled  in  the  wildest  spirits. 
Periods  of  deep  depression  occurred  to  him,  but  his 
nervous  energy  seldom  deserted  him. 

Wagner  luckily  escaped  arrest.  Mainly  by  the 
help  of  Liszt,  he  got  safely  out  of  the  country  and 

O 


194  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

soon  found  himself  once  more  in  Paris.  Liszt,  to  his 
everlasting  credit,  never  failed  to  answer  his  appeals 
for  help.  It  was  during  these  early  days  of  exile  (in 
1850)  that  this  loyal  friend,  to  whom  the  score  was  dedi- 
cated, brought  Lohengrin  to  a  hearing  at  Weimar.  "  At 
the  end  of  my  stay  in  Paris,"  wrote  Wagner,  referring 
to  1850,  "when,  ill,  miserable,  and  despairing,  I  sat 
brooding  over  my  fate,  my  eye  fell  on  the  score  of  my 
Lohengrin^  totally  forgotten  by  me.  Suddenly  I  felt 
something  like  compassion  that  this  music  should 
never  sound  from  off  the  death-pale  paper.  Two  words 
I  wrote  to  Liszt ;  his  answer  was  that  preparations 
were  made  for  the  performance  on  the  largest  scale 
the  limited  means  of  Weimar  would  permit."  It  is 
pathetic  to  note  that  Wagner  himself  was  afraid  to  go 
to  Weimar,  even  secretly,  to  hear  his  own  work.  He 
used  to  say  that  for  many  years  he  was  the  only 
German  who  had  not  heard  it ;  for  he  did  not  hear  it 
till  1 86 1.  At  first,  and  indeed  for  many  years, 
Lohengrin  was  regarded  with  the  utmost  indifference, 
if  not  aversion.  It  did  not  reach  London  till  1875, 
when  a  leading  critic  described  it  as  an  opera  without 
music.  Even  Germany  failed  to  appreciate  its  beauties. 
Gustav  Engel  said  it  seemed  like  *'  blubbering  baby- 
talk  " ;  while  Dr.  Hanslick,  the  great  Viennese  critic, 
remarked  that  "  the  simplest  song  of  Mendelssohn 
appeals  more  to  heart  and  soul  than  ten  Wagnerian 
operas."  How  ashamed  these  purblind  critics  would 
feel  now  if  they  could  rise  from  the  dead  to  learn  of 
the  hold  that  Lohengrin  has  gained  on  the  public ! 


RICHARD  WAGNER  195 

Well,  poor  Wagner  was  an  exile,  and  could  not  go 
to  Weimar  to  hear  this  his  own  work.  The  isolation 
and  banishment  told  severely  on  his  health  and  spirits, 
and  for  a  time  he  did  nothing  new.  During  a  temporary 
residence  at  Zurich  he  wrote  a  great  deal  on  the  theory 
and  philosophy  of  his  art.  But  his  hopes  always  drifted 
back,  as  he  did  himself,  to  Paris.  He  thought  now 
of  influencing  directors  and  managers  of  theatres  by 
a  series  of  concerts  at  which  extracts  from  his  operas 
should  be  given.  But  here  again  he  was  mistaken,  and 
once  more  he  had  to  give  up  the  campaign  after  a 
heavy  expenditure  of  time  and  money.  In  1861  the 
edict  that  had  so  long  separated  him  from  his  native 
country  was  removed,  and  he  returned  to  Germany. 
During  the  late  years  of  his  exile  he  had  been  working 
at  the  stupendous  drama  of  The  Ring.  He  had 
been  induced  to  start  it  by  a  cheerful  message  sent 
him  by  Liszt  just  after  the  Weimar  performance  of 
Loheiigrin.  "  Behold  !  we  have  come  so  far,"  wrote 
Liszt ;  "  now  create  us  a  new  work,  that  we  may  go 
still  further."  The  new  work  was  created,  but  the 
plan  which  Wagner  had  mapped  out  for  himself  as 
early  as  1851  was  not  realised  until  1875,  when 
Bayreuth  first  heard  the  Rhinegold,  the  Valkyrie, 
Siegfried,  and  the  Dusk  of  the  Gods — the  four  great 
music  dramas  which  compose  The  Ring. 

When  he  returned  to  Germany  after  his  exile,  he 
had  little  better  than  begun  the  gigantic  creation,  and 
he  saw  no  hope  of  ever  completing  it.  He  was  poor 
and  unhappy,  and  the  lack  of  general  appreciation  of 


196  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

his  former  music  dramas  chilled  his  incentive  if  not 
also  his  inspiration.  But  in  man's  affairs,  as  in  the 
natural  world,  the  darkest  hour  is  often  before  the  dawn. 
Wagner's  deliverance  was  at  hand.  Everybody  has 
heard  of  the  mad  Kings  of  Bavaria.  Well,  it  was  one 
of  these  tragically  pathetic  monarchs,  Ludwig  IL,  who, 
mad  as  he  was,  saved  Wagner  to  the  world.  When 
Ludwig  mounted  the  throne  of  Bavaria,  he  was  a  youth 
of  nineteen,  fond  of  music,  and  with  ample  means  of 
indulging  any  whim  in  that  direction.  He  had  taken 
a  fancy  for  Wagner,  and  he  now  offered  the  composer 
a  substantial  income,  besides  a  handsome  villa  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  palace.  The  story  is  familiar,  how 
Ludwig  sent  Adjutant  Sauer  to  seek  the  composer. 
Sauer  went  first  to  Vienna  and  then  to  Switzerland, 
without  success.  Then  one  told  him  :  "  Wagner  is  in 
Stuttgart,  hiding  from  his  creditors."  So  it  turned  out, 
and  the  statement  has  frequently  been  repeated  that 
Wagner  was  just  about  to  put  an  end  to  his  life  when 
Ludwig's  welcome  emissary  arrived.  Ludwig,  he  wrote 
shortly  after,  "  wants  me  to  be  always  with  him,  to 
work,  to  rest,  and  to  produce  my  music  dramas.  He 
will  give  me  all  I  need.  I  am  to  finish  The  Ring,  and 
everything  shall  be  as  I  wish."  So  it  was  ;  and  let  us 
thank  the  poor  mad  king  for  it.  Ludwig  was  in  a 
sense  the  discoverer  of  Wagner.  He  was  a  poet  who 
tried  to  make  the  dreams  of  poetry  the  realities  of 
daily  life.  He  lived  in  remote  and  marvellously 
beautiful  castles  which  he  had  erected  upon  the  crests 
of  mountains,  and  was  seen  by  his  people  only  in  fitful 


RICHARD  WAGNER  197 

glances,  dashing  along  through  the  night  on  a  white 
horse,  or  glittering  with  gold-inlaid  armour  in  the 
moonlight  like  a  second  Lohengrin.  In  time  it  was 
obvious  that  his  mind  had  altogether  failed.  He  was 
put  under  the  charge  of  physicians,  but  escaped  from 
them  and  cast  himself  into  the  lake.  This  was  in 
1886,  three  years  after  Wagner  himself  had  gone  to 
the  great  Beyond. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  follow  up  the  remaining 
details  of  the  composer's  career.  Though  comfortably 
settled,  as  we  have  just  seen,  a  certain  storm  and  stress 
accompanied  him  to  the  end.  Three  great  works  were 
still  to  emerge  from  his  brain  :  Tristan  und  Isolde^ 
the  Meister singers^  and  Parsifal,  The  first  named 
came  to  him  as  a  veritable  inspiration,  embittered 
though  he  then  was  with  debts  and  disappointments, 
by  a  nervous  illness,  and  by  the  imminent  rupture  of 
his  home  life.  When  he  was  sketching  out  the  text, 
he  wrote  to  Liszt :  **  As  I  have  never  in  life  felt  the 
real  bliss  of  love,  I  must  erect  a  monument  to  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  my  dreams,  in  which,  from 
beginning  to  end,  that  love  shall  be  thoroughly 
satiated."  And  Tristan  was  the  result,  the  magnificent 
result,  of  this  conception.  Completed  in  1859,  it  was 
not  heard  until  1865,  when  King  Ludwig  had  it  pro- 
duced at  Munich  under  Von  Billow's  direction.  It 
was  received,  the  reports  tell  us,  with  "  applause  of 
the  most  vigorous  kind  "  :  the  first  genuine  success 
that  had  so  far  fallen  to  Wagner's  lot. 

Then  followed  the    now   familiar   Meister singers^ 


198  MASTER   MUSICIANS 

which  was  also  produced  at  Munich  (in  June  1868), 
and  again  under  the  direction  of  Hans  von  Biilow — 
he  whose  divorced  wife,  a  daughter  of  Liszt,  was 
presently  to  become  Frau  Wagner.  For  poor  Minna 
had  now  been  dead  two  years,  separated  from  her 
husband  since  1861.  The  mother  of  Cosima  Liszt  was 
that  Comtesse  d'Agoult  who  wrote  under  the  pen 
name  of  "  Daniel  Stern."  Liszt  lived  with  the  Comtesse 
for  a  few  years.  Cosima  married  Biilow  in  1857,  and 
to  Biilow  Wagner  was  a  god.  Think,  then,  of  the 
bitter  joke  which  the  Fates  played  on  Biilow  !  Wagner 
had  got  Ludwig  to  make  Biilow  Court  pianist  and 
conductor  at  Munich,  and  here  was  the  result.  Biilow 
magnanimously  forgave  Wagner,  but  caustically  ex- 
pressed the  wish  that  he  had  been  another  so  that  he 
might  have  shot  him.  The  marriage  took  place  in 
1870,  and  proved  entirely  happy.  Wagner  himself 
wrote  of  Cosima  as  "  her  who  was  destined  to  show 
that  I  could  well  be  helped,  and  that  the  axiom  of 
many  of  my  friends  that  I  could  not  be  helped  was 
false.  She  knew  that  I  could  be  helped,  and  she  helped 
me.  She  has  defied  every  disapprobation  and  taken 
upon  herself  every  condemnation."  Frau  Wagner 
still  (1909)  lives,  a  sort  of  second  Madame  Schumann 
for  her  husband's  interests. 

In  1872  Wagner  moved  to  Bayreuth,  which  was 
destined  to  be  the  home  of  his  later  years,  the  scene 
of  such  triumphs  as  he  was  to  achieve  during  his  life, 
and  the  last  resting-place  when  all  was  over.  Here 
a  theatre  was  built  solely  for  the  performance  of  his 


RICHARD  WAGNER  199 

works,  in  which  one  of  his  ideals  was  carried  out  of 
having  the  orchestra  sunk  below  the  stage  level,  and  so 
invisible  to  the  audience.  The  first  performances  given 
in  this  magnificent  house  were  on  a  colossal  scale, 
and  the  debt  remaining  over  was  equally  colossal.  To 
get  in  money  a  grand  Wagner  Festival,  the  composer 
himself  conducting,  was  tried  in  London.  The  cult 
caught  on,  and  Wagner  returned  with  some  solid  cash 
in  his  pocket.  But  his  work  was  almost  done.  Parsifal 
has  been  called  his  musical  will.  It  was  completed  at 
Palermo  in  January  1882,  only  thirteen  months  before 
his  death. 

The  call  came  to  him  very  suddenly.  In  the  autumn 
of  1882  he  and  his  family  (a  son,  Siegfried,  had  been 
born  to  him)  went  to  Venice  for  a  holiday.  Wagner 
had  been  in  poor  health,  and  was  suffering  from  a 
heart  affection.  He  was  perfectly  careless  about  exer- 
tion, and  he  fell  faint  several  times.  On  February 
13,  1883,  he  rested  till  late.  At  noon  he  sent  for  the 
maid  and  ordered  a  light  luncheon.  Soon  after  it  had 
been  brought  the  maid  heard  Wagner  call  for  her  in  a 
faint  voice,  and  running  into  the  room  she  found  him 
in  agony.  "  Get  my  wife  and  the  doctor,"  he  said. 
The  wife  reached  his  side  in  time  to  witness  his  last 
struggle ;  when  the  doctor  came  he  was  dead.  Thus 
passed  into  the  Eternal  Silence  the  most  stupendous 
musical  genius  of  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth  century. 
He  lies  where  his  faithful  dog  "  Russ  "  had  been  laid, 
in  the  garden  of  his  own  house  at  Bayreuth — that 
Bayreuth  which  he  declared  to  be  the  art  centre  of 


200  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

the  world.  His  wife  cut  off  her  long  blonde  tresses, 
which  he  had  so  admired,  and  buried  them  with  him 
as  a  final  sacrifice.  He  died  a  disappointed  man, 
though  he  died  rich  at  last,  with  an  income  of  ;^5000, 
and  the  ability  to  travel  to  Italy  in  a  private  car. 
What  a  change  from  the  early  days  in  Paris  ! 

About  Wagner  the  man  there  would  be  a  great 
deal  to  say  if  there  were  space  for  it.  One  thing 
should  be  remarked,  that  he  w^as  probably  himself 
largely  to  blame  for  the  opposition  and  non-success 
which  marked  his  career.  He  spared  no  one's  feelings. 
He  was  vain  of  his  own  powers,  and  affected  to  be 
indifferent  to  the  powers  of  some  of  his  predecessors. 
He  had  no  talent  or  patience  for  compromise ;  and 
he  had  few  of  those  social  qualities  and  graces  that 
go  to  the  making  of  friends  and  the  conciliation  of 
enemies.  For  the  public,  even  the  applauding  public, 
he  had  little  consideration,  and  sometimes  scant 
courtesy.  During  the  performance  of  Parsifal  he 
interrupted  the  applause  to  point  out  that  the  work 
was  not  meant  to  rouse  excited  enthusiasm,  and  at 
the  close,  when  acknowledging  the  plaudits  of  the 
house,  he  turned  his  back  on  the  people  and  addressed 
a  long  speech  to  the  performers. 

To  his  friends  and  intimates  he  was  no  doubt 
different ;  but  to  the  outside  world  he  was  arrogant, 
aggressive,  contemptuous,  sometimes  positively  rude. 
He  was  selfish  too  ;  and  protested  that  the  world  should 
give  him  a  gratuitous  living  ''  without  asking  anything 
in  return  beyond  what  I  am  actually  doing  " — that  is, 


L  I  S  Z 


RICHARD  WAGNER  201 

composing.  When  the  world  declined  this  high  honour, 
he  threatened  to  buy  a  pistol  and  put  a  stop  to  his 
existence.  He  certainly  required  money  to  keep  him 
going,  for  he  had  the  most  expensive  tastes.  In  a  letter 
to  Praeger  he  said :  "  By  nature  I  am  luxurious, 
prodigal,  and  extravagant,  much  more  than  Sardana- 
palus  and  all  the  other  old  emperors  put  together." 
Here  he  spoke  the  sober  truth.  His  voluptuous  tastes 
went  far  beyond  a  fondness  for  rich  colours,  for 
harmonious  decorations,  for  out-of-the-way  furniture, 
for  well-bound  books,  and  so  on.  He  wore  silken  under- 
wear at  all  times,  and  he  employed  a  high-priced 
Viennese  dressmaker  to  make  the  rich  garments  which 
he  felt  indispensable  for  composition.  There  is  a  story 
about  him  wanting  some  flamingo  feathers  before  he 
could  obtain  sufficient  inspiration  to  finish  the  flower- 
maiden  scene  in  Parsifal.  Any  caller  who  had  not  seen 
him  before  was  likely  to  suffer  a  mild  shock  ;  for  on 
entering  the  room  where  his  visitor  was  seated,  Wagner 
would  throw  the  door  wide  open  before  him,  as  if  it 
were  fit  that  his  approach  should  be  heralded  like  that 
of  a  king,  and  he  would  stand  for  a  moment  on  the 
threshold,  a  curious  mediaeval  figure  in  a  frame.  The 
mystified  visitor,  rising  from  his  seat,  would  behold  a 
man  richly  clad  in  a  costume  of  velvet  and  satin,  like 
those  of  the  early  Tudor  period,  and  wearing  a  bonnet 
such  as  is  seen  in  portraits  of  Henry  VI. — his  compos- 
ing costume.  He  made  "  a  veritable  rainbow  of  himself, 
and  even  wore  many-coloured  trousers,"  says  one. 
Alexandre  Dumas,  calling  upon  him,  made  some 


202  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

good-humoured  remark  about  his  own  ignorance  of 
music  ;  but  his  pleasantries  were  listened  to  with  such 
a  smileless  stolidity  that  he  went  home  in  a  huff,  and 
wrote  his  contemptuous  protest  against  *'  Wagnerian 
din — inspired  by  the  riot  of  cats  scampering  in  the  dark 
about  an  ironmonger's  shop."  On  the  day  before  this 
protest  was  printed  Wagner  returned  Dumas's  visit, 
and  was  kept  waiting  half  an  hour  in  an  ante-room. 
Then  the  author  of  the  Three  Guardsmen  marched  in, 
superbly  attired  in  a  plumed  helmet,  a  cork  life-belt,  and 
a  flowered  dressing-gown.  "  Excuse  me  for  appearing 
in  my  working  dress,"  he  said  majestically.  "  Half  my 
ideas  are  lodged  in  this  helmet,  and  the  other  half  in 
a  pair  of  jack-boots  which  I  put  on  to  compose  love 
scenes." 

Wagner  admitted  frankly  that  his  tastes  were 
luxurious,  but  he  held  that  luxury  was  a  necessity  to 
him  as  an  aid  to  work.  "  I  cannot  live  like  a  dog,"  he 
wrote.  "  I  cannot  sleep  on  straw  and  drink  bad  whisky. 
I  must  be  coaxed  in  one  way  or  another  if  my  mind  is  to 
accomplish  the  terribly  difficult  task  of  creating  a  non- 
existent world."  There  is  something  unmanly  about 
this  perhaps,  especially  when  we  think  of  how  little 
luxury  Mozart  and  Beethoven  and  Bach  and  Schubert 
could  afford  themselves.  But  the  individual  is  a  law 
unto  himself  in  matters  of  that  kind  ;  and  if  Wagner 
had  not  been  able  to  indulge  his  expensive  tastes  we 
should  probably  have  been  without  some  of  his  greatest 
music-dramas  to-day. 


A    CLUSTER    FROM    THE   OPERATIC 
BRANCH 

What  love  is  to  man,  music  is  to  the  arts  and  to  mankind. 
Music  is  love  itself — it  is  the  purest,  most  ethereal  language  of 
passion,  showing  in  a  thousand  ways  all  possible  changes  of  colour 
and  feeling  ;  and  though  only  true  in  a  single  instance,  it  yet  can 
be  understood  by  thousands  of  men — who  all  feel  differently. — 
Weber. 

Opera  has  a  sort  of  separate  history  of  its  own.  Certain 
composers  have  a  "  vein  "  for  it,  as  we  say,  and  practi- 
cally confine  themselves  to  it ;  other  composers  never 
touch  it,  or  if  they  do,  make  no  success  of  it.  Bach  did 
not  meddle  with  the  form  at  all.  Beethoven  made  just 
one  attempt  with  his  Fidelio ;  Schumann  also  one 
attempt  with  his  Genoveva.  Schubert  tried  opera,  but 
to  little  purpose.  Handel  and  Haydn  wrote  operas 
which  are  completely  forgotten.  Mendelssohn  made 
no  effort  in  this  direction  (for  the  unfinished  Loreley 
hardly  counts) ;  nor  Chopin  ;  nor  Brahms.  Wagner 
stands  alone  as  the  only  really  great  composer  who 
confined  himself  to  opera — to  music-drama,  as  he 
called  it.  And  then  there  were  the  lesser  lights,  some 
of  whom  wrote  opera  only,  while  some  took  it  as  a  by- 
path in  the  great  field  of  musical  form.  To  these  lesser 
lights  we  shall  give  some  attention  now,  ranging  them 

203 


204  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

conveniently  under  their  nationality  as  German,  French, 
and  Italian.  England  does  not  claim  any  striking  re- 
presentative of  opera,  for  though  Balfe's  Bohemian  Girl 
remains  as  popular  as  ever,  no  one  would  dream  of 
calling  Balfe  a  great  composer.  Of  course  there  is  Sir 
Arthur  Sullivan,  but  then  it  was  comic  operas,  and  very 
good  ones,  that  he  wrote. 

Gluck 

In  point  of  chronology,  Christoph  Willibald  Gluck, 
the  son  of  a  German  forester,  was  the  first  composer 
who  really  influenced  modern  opera,  for  he  was  born 
in  17 14,  and  had  begun  to  write  before  Handel  gave 
up  opera  for  oratorio.  Gluck  indeed  came  into  direct 
conflict  with  Handel  when  he  encroached  on  Handel's 
preserves  in  London  in  1745.  Handel,  then  at  the 
height  of  his  popularity,  detested  both  Gluck  and  his 
music,  exclaiming,  "  he  knows  no  more  counterpoint 
than  my  cook."  As  if  counterpoint  were  essential  in 
opera !  Doubtless,  as  Elson  says,  Handel  would  have 
been  surprised  to  learn  that  the  later  work  of  this 
intruder  was  destined  to  banish  wholly  from  opera  the 
intricate  artificialities  of  his  own  contrapuntal  writing. 

But  Gluck  had  no  success  in  London  in  1745,  so  he 
took  his  wounded  vanity  across  the  Channel.  He  had 
been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  opera,  and  gradually 
he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  the  recognised  Italian 
opera  of  the  day  was  cast  on  totally  wrong  lines.  It 
was  "  nothing  but  a  more  or  less  miscellaneous  concert, 
with  a  thread  of  plot  running  through  it."    Gluck  was 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    205 

a  long  time  in  putting  his  ideas  into  practice,  but  at 
last,  in  1762,  he  brought  out  that  history-making  work, 
Orfeo  ed  Euridice^  the  principles  of  which  were  so  well 
founded  that  it  survives  in  active  life  even  to  the  present 
Wagnerian  days.  "  The  story,"  to  quote  an  authority, 
"  is  written  in  a  broad  and  dignified  manner,  and  the 
music  rests  on  no  artificial  law,  but  is  the  natural 
expression  of  the  emotions  and  situations  found  in  the 
poem."  Here  is  the  significance  of  Gluck's  reform  in 
the  evolution  of  opera.  He  was  in  reality  the  forerunner 
of  Wagner  in  treating  the  opera  as  an  integral  whole  ; 
though  Wagner  had  again  to  break  the  fetters  that 
bound  opera  within  the  formal  rules  and  conventions 
of  the  Italian  school.  This  was  due  chiefly  to  the 
temporary  eclipse  of  Gluck's  reform  by  the  **  baleful 
genius"  of  Rossini,  who  "set  back  the  hands  of  the  clock 
of  operatic  progress  by  about  half-a-century." 

The  reformer's  way  is  hard,  and  Gluck  suffered  some 
bitter  experiences  by  his  bold  defiance  of  tradition. 
He  had  been  settled  in  Vienna  for  a  time.  From  there 
he  went  to  Paris,  buoyed  up  by  the  expressed  approval 
of  his  old  pupil  Marie  Antoinette.  Paris  welcomed  him 
at  first :  called  him  the  Hercules  of  music,  dogged  his 
footsteps  in  the  streets,  and  loudly  applauded  him  at 
public  assemblies.  But  this  did  not  last.  Paris  was  tied 
to  the  old  operatic  convention.  A  powerful  opposition 
arose,  and  they  imported  the  Italian  Piccini,  who,  after 
a  fortnight's  downpour  of  rain,  plaintively  asked  if  the 
sun  never  shone  in  France.  Piccini  came  as  an  ex- 
ponent of  the  current  style  of  Italian  opera  ;  and  soon 


2o6  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

after  his  advent  musical  Paris  was  split  up  into  two 
powerful  factions,  the  Gluckists  and  the  Piccinists. 
They  fought  with  each  other  both  by  tongue  and  pen. 
Marie  Antoinette  was  for  Gluck,  while  Madame  du 
Barri,  the  King's  mistress,  glad  of  an  opportunity  of 
piquing  the  Queen,  was  for  Piccini. 

"  Women  and  men  alike  entered  into  the  fray,"  says 
the  Baroness  Oberkirch.  "  Then  were  such  passions 
and  furies  raised,  that  people  had  to  be  separated  ; 
many  friends,  and  even  lovers,  quarrelled  on  account  of 
this."  Gluck  said  he  knew  one  who  would  give  dinners 
and  suppers  to  three-fourths  of  Paris,  to  gain  proselytes 
for  Piccini.  The  quarrel  even  extended  to  the  boards 
of  the  Opera.  Then,  when  Mile.  Levasseur,  as  Alceste 
in  Gluck's  opera  of  that  name,  reached  the  words 
"  You  break  my  heart,"  one  of  the  Piccini  party  cried, 
'  You  break  my  ears,"  to  which  a  Gluckist  promptly 
replied,  *'  What  luck  !  for  you  can  get  a  better  pair." 
Gluck  went  on  in  the  path  of  progress  undismayed  by 
all  this  ;  and  when,  in  1779,  he  produced  his  Iphigenie 
en  Tauridey  it  created  such  a  furore  of  enthusiasm  in 
Paris  that  the  rival  composition  of  Piccini  on  the  same 
subject,  two  years  later,  was  consigned  to  oblivion. 
It  is  fair,  however,  to  say  that  the  ultimate  failure  of 
Piccini's  opera  was  largely  due  to  the  prima  donna 
appearing  intoxicated  at  the  second  performance. 
About  which  incident  Sophie  Arnould,  a  rival  singer, 
wittily  observed  :  "  This  is  not  Iphigenie  en  Tauride, 
but  Iphigenie  en  Champagne." 

The  triumph  of  Iphigenie  practically  closed  Gluck's 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    207 

career.  He  was  a  wealthy  man  by  this  time,  for  he 
had  made  money  by  his  operas,  and  had  been  hand- 
somely pensioned  by  both  Marie  Antoinette  and  Maria 
Theresa.  He  retired  to  Vienna,  to  live  a  life  of  ease 
and — intemperance.  He  had  always  been  fond  of 
wine,  and  now  his  wife  had  constant  anxiety  about 
keeping  the  bottle  from  him.  One  day  a  friend  came 
to  dine,  and  liqueurs  were  placed  on  the  table.  The 
temptation  was  too  strong.  Gluck  seized  the  bottle 
of  brandy,  and  before  his  wife  could  stop  him  he  had 
drained  its  contents.  That  night  he  fell  down  in  an 
apoplectic  fit,  and  he  died  November  25,  1787,  aged 
seventy-three. 

In  his  early  days  Gluck  was  handsome,  vivacious, 
and  witty,  but  as  he  grew  older  he  changed  consider- 
ably. His  face  was  badly  pitted  with  smallpox. 
Burney  described  him  as  "  very  coarse  in  figure  and 
look  "  ;  but  he  was  dressed,  nevertheless,  magnificently 
in  a  grey  suit  embroidered  with  silver,  and  carrying  a 
heavy  gold-headed  cane.  His  nature  was  kindly,  and 
there  is  a  pleasant  story  of  his  asking  young  Mozart 
and  his  wife  to  dinner  after  applauding  one  of  Mozart's 
symphonies  in  public.  His  method  of  composing  has 
been  described  by  M^-hul,  a  brother  musician,  who 
watched  him  one  day  through  an  opening  in  a  screen. 
Mehul  says  : 

"  He  had  on  a  black  velvet  cap  of  the  German 
fashion.  He  was  in  slippers ;  and  his  stockings  were 
negligently  pulled  over  his  drawers.  As  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  dress,  he  had  on  an  Indian  jacket  of 


2o8  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

a  large  flower  pattern,  which  came  no  lower  than  his 
waist.  I  thought  him  superb  in  this  accoutrement. 
All  the  pomp  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth's  toilette  would 
not  have  excited  my  admiration  like  the  deshabille  of 
Gluck. 

"  Suddenly  I  saw  him  dart  from  his  seat,  seize  the 
chairs,  range  them  about  the  room  to  represent  the 
wings  of  a  scene,  return  to  his  harpsichord  to  give  the 
air,  and  there  was  my  man  holding  in  each  hand  the 
corner  of  his  jacket,  humming  an  air  de  ballet, 
curtseying  like  a  young  dancer,  making  glissades 
round  the  chairs,  cutting  capers,  describing  the  atti- 
tudes, and  acting  all  the  tricks  and  pretty  allurements 
of  an  opera  nymph.  He  then  appeared  to  wish  to 
manoeuvre  the  whole  corps  de  ballet ;  but  space  fail- 
ing him,  he  desired  to  enlarge  his  stage,  and  for  this 
purpose  came  with  a  bang  of  his  fist  against  the  first 
wing  of  the  screen,  which  suddenly  opened — and  lo  ! 
I  was  discovered." 

Weber 

After  Gluck  comes  Carl  Maria  von  Weber,  who 
was  born  at  Eutin,  a  small  town  of  Oldenburg,  in  1786, 
and  died  in  1826.  His  father  was  a  travelling  actor, 
once  a  man  of  wealth  and  good  social  position,  and  it 
was  his  cousin,  Constance,  who  married  Mozart. 
Weber  was  an  invalid  from  birth,  and  suffered  all  his 
life  from  disease  of  the  hipbone,  which  lamed  him  badly. 
He  could  not  walk  till  he  was  four  years  old.  His 
chief  teacher  was  that  same  Abbe  Vogler  who  is  the 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    209 

subject  of  Browning's  fine  poem.  Mozart  called  Vogler 
a  quack.  He  boasted  himself  that  he  could  make  a 
composer  in  three  weeks  and  a  singer  in  six  months. 
He  taught  Meyerbeer,  and  he  exclaimed  more  than 
once :  "  Oh  how  sorry  I  should  have  been  had  I  died 
before  I  formed  these  two" — Weber  and  Meyerbeer. 
He  certainly  did  well  for  both. 

Weber  wandered  about  a  good  deal  in  his  youth, 
and  at  Breslau  nearly  destroyed  his  beautiful  voice  by 
accidentally  drinking  a  glass  of  nitric  acid.  A  curious 
episode  in  his  life  was  his  connection  with  the  royal 
family  of  Wurtemberg,  where  he  found  a  dissolute 
Court,  and  a  whimsical,  arrogant,  half-crazy  king. 
Here  he  remained  for  four  years,  in  a  semi-official 
musical  position,  his  nominal  duty  being  that  of 
secretary  to  the  king's  brother.  He  hated  the  king 
himself,  who  was  so  enormously  fat  that  a  space  had 
to  be  cut  in  the  dining-table  to  allow  him  to  get  near 
enough  to  feed.  One  day  he  had  a  stormy  interview 
with  his  majesty,  and  revenged  himself  by  ushering 
into  the  royal  presence  an  elderly  female  whom  he 
found  inquiring  for  the  Court  laundress.  The  king, 
who  hated  old  women,  sent  poor  Weber  to  prison  for 
this  trick  ;  and  it  is  said  that  while  there  he  got  access 
to  a  wretched  piano,  tuned  it  with  a  door-key,  and 
composed  one  of  his  best-known  songs  at  it. 

He  settled  down  at  Dresden  in  18 16,  and  it  was 
there  that  he  wrote  Der  Freischiitz,  the  opera  which 
brought  him  fame.  When  it  was  first  produced  in 
1 82 1  the  entire  German  nation  was  "carried  by  storm, 

P 


210  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

and  the  learned  pundits  of  music  looked  on  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  demonstration  of  popular  feeling."  Soon 
the  opera  was  the  rage  everywhere.  When  it  was  at 
the  height  of  its  popularity  in  London,  a  gentleman 
advertised  for  a  servant  who  should  be  unable  to 
whistle  its  airs.  Something  of  the  same  kind  happened 
when  Oberon  was  staged  for  the  first  time  in  London 
in  1826.  Charles  Kemble,  the  lessee  of  Covent 
Garden,  had  commissioned  this  opera  (at  ;^  1000,  too), 
and  had  given  Weber  three  months  to  complete  it. 
"  Three  months  ! "  exclaimed  Weber,  who  wrote 
slowly ;  "  that  will  only  afford  me  time  to  read  the 
piece  and  design  the  plan."  He  took  in  reality  eight- 
een months,  and  then  he  came  to  London  to  conduct 
the  opera  himself.  The  performance  proved  a  great 
triumph.  Weber  wrote  to  his  wife  that  the  overture 
was  encored,  and  every  air  interrupted  twice  or  thrice 
with  bursts  of  applause. 

An  interesting  anecdote  connected  with  the  pro- 
duction was  related  some  years  ago  by  Mrs.  Keeley, 
who,  as  Miss  Goward,  sang  the  well-known  "Mermaid's 
Song  "  at  the  performance.  The  song  was  successively 
declined  by  two  other  vocalists ;  then  Sir  George 
Smart  said  :  "  Little  Goward  will  sing  it."  And  she 
did.  The  Mermaid  had  to  sing  at  the  back  of  the 
stage,  where  it  was  very  difficult  to  hear  the  extremely 
soft  accompaniment.  At  the  first  general  rehearsal  the 
effect  was  not  quite  satisfactory,  and  the  stage-manager 
impatiently  exclaimed  :  "  That  must  come  out ;  it 
won't  go."    Weber  was  standing  in  the  pit,  leaning 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    211 

on  the  back  of  the  orchestra,  and  he  shouted,  "  Where- 
fore shall  it  not  go  ? "  Then,  leaping  over  the  parti- 
tion like  a  boy,  he  took  the  place  of  Sir  George  Smart, 
who  was  temporarily  conducting,  and  thus  saved  the 
excision  of  this  favourite  song. 

Schumann  once  begged  an  admiring  correspondent 
not  to  place  him  between  Beethoven  and  Weber,  but 
somewhere  near  them,  so  that  he  might  continue  to 
learn  from  them.  The  conjunction  of  names  sounds 
strange  enough  to-day  ;  but  Oberon  and  Der  Fj'eischutz 
attained  a  success  that  Beethoven  never  attained  with 
his  Fidelio,  This  was  due  largely  to  the  fact  that 
Weber  caught  the  spirit  of  the  romantic  movement 
that  was  stirring  Germany  in  his  time,  and  gave  it 
fitting  expression  in  his  music.  The  strongest  feature 
of  his  works  is  their  melodic  flow,  though  his  melodies 
are  at  times  weak,  sugary,  and  affected.  The  man 
himself  is  described  as  small  and  narrow-chested,  with 
long  arms  and  large  hands  ;  thin,  pale,  irregular  face, 
with  brilliant  blue  eyes  ;  a  "  mighty  forehead,  fringed 
by  a  few  straggling  locks  "  ;  awkward  and  clumsy,  but 
charming  in  spite  of  all.  As  opera  director  at  Dresden, 
he  wore  a  blue  frock-coat  with  metal  buttons,  tight 
trousers,  Hessian  boots  with  tassels,  a  cloak  with 
several  capes,  and  a  broad  round  hat — a  truly  operatic 
figure,  one  would  say. 

Weber's  death  was  very  tragic.  It  took  place  sud- 
denly in  London,  after  that  first  performance  of  Oberon. 
Like  Chopin,  he  had  long  suffered  from  consumption, 
and  like  Chopin  on  Jiis  last  London  visit,  he  had  often 


212  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

to  be  carried  upstairs.  People  were  so  distressed  by  his 
coughing  that  they  sent  him  presents  of  jellies,  lozenges, 
and  all  sorts  of  chest  remedies.  He  took  it  himself  with 
a  sort  of  grim  humour.  Thus  he  wrote  to  his  wife  that 
"  Mr.  Cough  is  very  capricious,  coming  and  going  with- 
out any  reason,  but  is  a  right  good  aid  to  early  rising." 
His  mother  married  when  only  sixteen,  and  died  of 
consumption,  so  that  the  trouble  was  hereditary.  Two 
days  before  his  intended  departure  for  Dresden,  he 
went  to  bed  at  Sir  George  Smart's  house,  103  Great 
Portland  Street.  He  was  very  ill,  and  when  he  had 
wound  up  his  watch  he  said  to  a  friend  :  "  Now  let 
me  sleep."  Next  morning  he  was  found  to  have  passed 
into  his  last  sleep.  They  buried  him  in  London  ;  but 
two  years  later,  mainly  upon  the  initiative  of  Wagner, 
his  remains  were  exhumed  and  carried  for  re-interment 
to  Dresden. 

Meyerbeer 

And  now  follows  Jacob  Meyerbeer.  Meyerbeer  was 
disliked  by  Wagner  because  he  was  a  Jew,  and  by 
Schumann  because  he  wrote,  not  for  art,  but  to  curry 
favour  with  the  public.  In  //  Crociato  Schumann  said 
he  was  inclined  to  place  Meyerbeer  among  musicians  ; 
in  Robert  le  Viable  he  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had 
not  made  a  mistake  in  so  doing ;  in  Les  Huguenots  he 
found  that  the  music  was  best  fitted  for  circus  people  ! 
And  yet  Les  Huguenots  and  Robert  le  Viable  had  both 
a  long  run  of  popularity,  while  //  Crociato  was  speedily 
forgotten.    Le  PropJiete  had  less  favour  than  its  two 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    213 

companions  just  named  ;  but  the  two  efforts  in  the 
field  of  opera  comique,  L^toile  du  Nordy  and  Dinorah, 
were  great  favourites  with  a  former  generation. 

Meyerbeer  was  born  in  Berlin  in  1791,  the  son  of 
a  rich  father,  who  had  been  in  the  sugar-refining  busi- 
ness. There  is  here  a  parallel  with  Mendelssohn,  the 
son  of  another  moneyed  Jew.  Meyerbeer  made  large 
sums  by  his  operas,  and  was  probably  the  wealthiest 
of  German  composers.  His  mother  used  to  say, 
apologetically  :  "  He  is  a  musician,  but  not  of 
necessity."  Mendelssohn's  teacher,  Zelter,  gave  him 
some  lessons,  and  then  he  went  to  Darmstadt  to  study 
with  Abbe  Vogler.  He  gained  his  first  distinctions  as 
a  pianist,  but  he  took  to  opera,  and  achieved  one  or 
two  triumphs  in  Italy  in  direct  rivalry  with  Rossini. 
Rossini  and  he  were  good  friends,  all  the  same ;  in 
fact,  when  Rossini  heard  of  his  death  he  fainted  away. 
There  is  a  story  to  the  effect  that  shortly  after  this 
event  an  amateur  called  to  show  Rossini  an  elegy  he 
had  written  on  Meyerbeer.  "  Well,"  said  Rossini, 
after  looking  it  through,  "  I  think  it  would  have  been 
better  \{  you  had  died,  and  Meyerbeer  had  written  the 
elegy."  It  was  Rossini's  joke  to  say  that  he  and 
Meyerbeer  could  never  agree,  because  Meyerbeer  liked 
sauer-kraut  better  than  macaroni.  Rossini,  let  it  be 
understood,  was  prouder  of  his  manner  of  cooking 
macaroni  than  of  his  compositions. 

Meyerbeer  settled  in  Paris  after  marrying  his 
cousin,  Minna  Mosson.  Here,  though  possessed  of 
millions,  he  lived  in  an  almost  miserly  style,  with  only 


214  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

one  servant.  If  he  had  no  need  to  be  a  musician  he 
did  not  show  it  by  his  labours,  which  were  as  industrious 
as  if  he  had  been  poor.  *'  I  am  above  all  an  artist," 
he  said,  "  and  it  gives  me  satisfaction  to  think  that  I 
might  have  supported  myself  with  my  music  from  the 
time  I  was  seven.  I  have  no  desire  to  stand  aloof 
from  my  associates  and  play  the  rich  amateur." 
Meyerbeer  of  course  met  Chopin  in  Paris.  And  he 
had  good  reason  to  like  Chopin's  music.  He  had  one 
day  a  quarrel  with  his  wife,  a  cousin,  "  sweet  as  she 
was  fair."  He  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  played  a 
Nocturne  sent  him  by  Chopin  ;  the  wife  was  so  much 
taken  with  the  piece  that  she  went  and  kissed  the 
player.  Then  Meyerbeer  wrote  to  Chopin,  telling  him 
of  the  incident,  and  inviting  him  to  come  and  witness 
the  domestic  calm  after  the  storm.  Meyerbeer  died  in 
Paris  in  May  1863.  He  was  curiously  afraid  of  being 
buried  alive.  In  his  pocket-book  after  his  death  was 
found  a  paper  giving  directions  that  small  bells  should 
be  attached  to  his  hands  and  feet,  and  that  his  body 
should  be  carefully  watched  for  four  days,  after  which  it 
should  be  sent  to  Berlin,  to  be  interred  by  the  side 
of  his  mother. 

No  composer's  works  have  been  more  diversely 
criticised  than  Meyerbeer's.  Berlioz  called  Les  Hugue- 
nots a  musical  encyclopaedia,  with  material  enough  for 
twenty  ordinary  operas.  Another  called  it  "  banker's 
music  " — luxury  music  for  la  haute  finance.  Wagner 
cried  out  against  the  blatant  vulgarity  of  Meyerbeer's 
style,  and  described  him  as  "  a  most  miserable  music- 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    215 

maker."  But  Wagner's  antipathy  to  the  Jews  led  him 
to  the  wildest  exaggerations  of  criticism.  After  all  is 
said  and  done,  there  is  no  denying  that  Meyerbeer's 
operas  contain  many  passages  of  supreme  beauty,  and 
the  best  of  them  would  well  bear  revival. 

Gounod  and  Bizet 

Now  we  come  to  the  Frenchmen.  Here  the  great 
names,  so  far  as  surviving  popularity  is  concerned, 
are  Gounod  and  Bizet,  the  composers  respectively  of 
Faust  and  Carmen.  But  a  word  or  two  may  be  said 
about  one  or  two  of  their  predecessors.  There  was 
BOIELDIEU,  for  instance  (1775- 1834),  whose  La  Dame 
Blanche  not  so  long  ago  held  a  leading  place  in  the 
operatic  repertoire,  and  is  still  popular  in  France. 
Boieldieu  was  the  son  of  a  Norman  family,  but  in 
Paris  was  obliged  to  tune  pianos  for  a  living,  and  was 
glad  to  sell  his  brilliant  chansons  for  a  few  francs  apiece. 
Then  there  was  DANIEL  AuBER  (i 784-1 871),  for 
many  years  director  of  the  Paris  Conservatoire.  He 
devoted  himself  principally  to  opera,  and  had  a  big 
run  of  luck  with  Fra  Diavolo,  Masajtiello,  and  Le 
Domino  Noir.  Rossini  had  a  very  poor  opinion  of  his 
work.  "  You  know  what  pretty  dance  tunes  Auber  has 
always  written,"  he  sarcastically  said,  the  fact  being 
that  Auber  never  wrote  any  dance  tunes.  On  the 
other  hand,  Wagner — even  Wagner — highly  praised 
Masaniello,  especially  its  instrumentation  and  its 
dramatic  choral  effects.  Auber  was  unique  in  never 
attending  the  performance  of  his  own  works.    He  was 


2i6  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

noted  for  wit,  and  many  of  his  bons  mots  are  recorded. 
While  directing  a  musical  soiree  when  over  80,  a 
gentleman  having  taken  a  white  hair  from  his  shoulder, 
he  said  :  *'  This  hair  must  belong  to  some  old  fellow 
who  passed  near  me."  Then,  still  later,  came  Ambroise 
Thomas  (1811-1896),  who  began  by  imitating  Auber, 
but  soon  struck  out  a  style  of  his  own,  as  we  see  in 
the  popular  Mignon,  the  only  one  of  his  baker's  dozen 
of  operas  which  has  survived.  The  dainty  gavotte 
from  Mzgno7i  is  as  familiar  as  anything  of  its  kind. 
These  and  other  opera  composers  of  lesser  note  lead 
us  directly  up  to  Gounod. 

Ignaz  Moscheles,  the  great  pianist,  wrote  in  1861  : 
"  In  Gounod  I  hail  a  real  composer.  I  have  heard 
his  Faust  both  at  Leipzig  and  Dresden,  and  am 
charmed  with  that  refined,  piquant  music.  Critics 
may  rave  if  they  like  against  the  mutilation  of  Goethe's 
masterpiece ;  the  opera  is  sure  to  attract,  for  it  is 
fresh,  interesting  work,  with  a  copious  flow  of  melody 
and  lovely  instrumentation."  It  is  close  on  fifty  years 
since  that  was  written,  yet  Faust  is  to-day  the  only 
serious  rival  to  Tamihdusery  Lohengrin,  and  Carmen. 
Gounod  wrote  in  all  departments  of  music,  but  it  is 
by  his  Faust  that  he  will  live.  His  other  operas,  with 
the  single  exception  of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  have  not 
enjoyed  any  measure  of  popularity. 

Charles  Frangois  Gounod  was  born  in  Paris  in  18 1 8, 
and  died  there  in  1893.  Like  Bizet  and  Berlioz,  he 
carried  off  the  Prix  de  Rome  at  the  Conservatoire, 
and  his  three  years'  stay  in  Rome  fostered  in  him  a 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    217 

powerful  religious  sentiment.  In  fact  he  came  very 
near  entering  upon  a  monastic  life.  The  religious 
fervour  returned  to  him  in  his  old  age,  when  he  pro- 
duced the  oratorios  TJie  Redemption  (for  which  a 
London  firm  paid  him  ;^iooo)  and  Mors  et  Vita. 
His  first  operas  failed  completely,  and  this  temporarily 
drove  him  back  to  sacred  music.  Faust,  however, 
written  when  he  was  forty,  changed  all  that.  Strange 
to  say,  no  manager  would  at  first  produce  it,  and  no 
publisher  would  bring  out  the  score.  A  publisher  was 
found  at  last  who  bought  it  for  10,000  francs,  and  by  so 
doing  laid  the  foundation  of  the  fortunes  of  his  house. 
In  thirty  years  the  modest  sum  he  timidly  advanced 
brought  in  nearly  three  million  francs.  The  manager 
who  did  finally  agree  to  stage  the  opera  was  less  fortu- 
nate. He  had  faith  in  its  final  triumph,  and  pushed 
it  on  to  a  fifty -seventh  performance,  at  which  point 
he  failed  and  the  theatre  was  closed.  It  is  staggering 
to  think  that  the  public  of  that  time  were  so  long  in 
waking  up  to  the  fact  that  here  was  a  work  of  beauty 
and  charm,  destined  to  live.  But  what  could  be  ex- 
pected of  the  public  when  Berlioz  (jealous,  of  course) 
declared  that  Gounod  had  not  the  smallest  conception 
of  the  subject  he  sought  to  treat?  One  music  critic 
cynically  said  that  Faust  had  only  a  waltz  and  a  chorus ; 
another  hoped  that  Gounod  would  never  repeat  the 
experiment.    We  wish  he  had  ! 

Of  later  years  the  greatest  French  name  in  opera  is 
that  of  Bizet.  Everybody  who  knows  anything  about 
opera  knows  Carmen.    It  is  one  of  the  surest  "  draws  " 


2i8  MASTER  MUSICIANS 


in  the  manager's  list.  And  the  sad  thing  is  that  Bizet 
died  only  a  few  months  after  its  successful  production, 
and  while  it  was  still  impossible  to  forecast  the  brilliant 
career  in  store  for  it.  Though  Bizet  had  written  a  great 
deal  before  he  wrote  Carmen^  he  had  never  really  tasted 
the  sweets  of  success  ;  and  he  went  to  his  grave  much 
as  Keats  went — his  end  hastened  by  the  rebuffs  and 
disappointments  which  he  had  experienced. 

Georges  Bizet,  who  came  of  a  musical  family,  was 
born  in  Paris  in  1838.  He  could  distinguish  the  degrees 
of  the  scale  before  he  knew  the  alphabet.  His  father 
wanted  to  send  him  to  the  Conservatoire,  but  the  rules 
would  not  admit  one  so  young.  Rubinstein  and  Liszt 
had  both  been  refused  admission  when  Cherubini  was 
head,  because  Cherubini  detested  prodigies.  However, 
Bizet's  father  resolved  to  interview  the  director  on  the 
subject.  "  Your  child  is  very  young,"  said  the  official, 
casting  a  supercilious  glance  at  the  boy.  "That's  true," 
replied  the  parent,  ''  but  if  he  is  small  by  measurement, 
he  is  great  in  knowledge."  "  Really  !  And  what  can  he 
do  ?  "  "  Place  yourself  at  the  piano,  strike  chords,  and 
he  will  name  them  all  without  a  mistake."  Georges 
Bizet  did,  and  the  rules  of  the  Conservatoire  were 
relaxed  for  once. 

He  made  a  brilliant  student  and  carried  off  prize 
after  prize.  He  played  the  piano  so  well  that  even 
Liszt  praised  him.  He  won  the  coveted  Prix  de  Rome, 
and  that  took  him  to  the  Eternal  City  for  three  years. 
When  the  time  was  up,  he  had  to  get  his  living,  and  he 
did  it  very  much  as  Wagner  had  done  in  that  same  gay 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH   219 

Paris.  He  composed  ''  pot-boilers  "  of  all  kinds.  "  Be 
assured,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend,  "  that  it  is  aggravating 
to  interrupt  my  cherished  work  for  two  days  to  write 
solos  for  the  cornet.  One  must  live."  Again  he  tells 
that  he  is  working  fifteen  or  sixteen  hours  a  day  ;  more 
sometimes,  for  he  has  lessons  to  give,  proofs  to  correct. 
Once  he  says  he  has  not  slept  for  three  nights.  Such 
was  the  hard  fate  of  the  composer  of  Cannen.  Alas ! 
he  fell  just  when  victory  was  within  his  grasp.  Carmen 
had  been  produced  at  the  Opera  Comique,  Paris,  on  the 
3rd  of  March  1875  \  ^"^  on  the  3rd  of  June  Bizet  lay 
dead.  The  hour  of  midnight  sounded  when  his  heart 
ceased  to  beat,  far  away  in  the  country  ;  and  in  Paris 
they  were  lowering  the  curtain  on  the  thirty-third  per- 
formance of  the  dead  man's  masterpiece. 

Rossini 

So  much  for  the  Germans  and  the  Frenchmen. 
Three  popular  masters  of  Italian  opera  were  all  work- 
ing about  the  same  time:  Rossini  (1792-1868),  Doni- 
zetti (1797-1848),  and  Bellini  (1802-1831).  The  most 
distinguished  of  the  trio  was,  of  course,  Rossini.  He 
had  a  tremendous  vogue  at  one  period,  and  even  over- 
shadowed Beethoven.  His  first  great  success  was  with 
//  Tancrediy  which  took  Venice  by  storm  in  18 13. 
This  was  followed  by  many  other  operas,  notably  by 
The  Barber  of  Seville  and  William  Tell.  Rossini  had 
a  fatal  facility  of  composition,  and  the  number  of  his 
operas,  mostly  forgotten  now,  is  prodigious.  His  music 
is  brilliant,  but  often  devoid  of  dramatic  significance. 


2  20  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

The  man  himself  was  more  interesting.  He  was  of  low 
parentage — the  son  of  a  village  inspector  of  slaughter- 
houses. The  father  got  into  prison  for  some  political 
offence,  and  young  Rossini  was  given  over  to  the  care 
of  a  pork-butcher.  He  was  born  on  February  29,  in 
leap  year.  This  meant  a  birthday  only  once  in  four 
years,  and  when  he  was  seventy-two  he  facetiously 
invited  his  friends  to  celebrate  his  eighteenth  birthday. 
He  was  a  great  humorist,  and  hundreds  of  good  stories 
are  told  about  him.  Prince  Poniatowski,  the  composer 
of  the  popular  "  Yeoman's  Wedding  Song,"  had  written 
two  operas,  and  wanted  very  much  to  have  Rossini's 
opinion  as  to  which  of  the  two  he  should  choose  for 
production.  Rossini  reluctantly  consented  to  hear  the 
composer  play  them  through.  He  settled  himself  in  his 
easy-chair  and  placed  a  huge  handkerchief  over  his 
eyes.  Poniatowski  sat  down  to  the  piano  and  worked 
away  lustily  for  an  hour  or  so.  When  he  was  about  to 
begin  on  the  second  opera,  Rossini  awoke  from  a  doze 
into  which  he  had  fallen,  and  touched  him  lightly  on 
the  shoulder  so  as  to  arrest  his  progress.  "  Now,  my 
friend,  I  can  advise  you,"  he  said  sleepily :  "  have  the 
other  performed."  A  kindred  joke  was  tried  on  Liszt. 
Liszt  had  just  played  one  of  his  so-called  "  symphonic 
poems  "  to  Rossini.  "  I  prefer  the  other,"  said  Rossini 
laconically.  Liszt  naturally  inquired  which  "  other." 
"  The  chaos  in  Haydn's  Creation^'  was  the  withering 
reply.  Rossini  had  scant  respect  for  amateur  com- 
posers. One  such  sent  him  the  manuscript  of  his  latest 
composition,  accompanied  by  a  Stilton  cheese.    The 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    221 

composer  hoped,  of  course,  for  a  letter  praising  his 
work.  The  letter  came,  but  all  it  said  was  :  "  Thanks  ! 
I  like  the  cheese  very  much."  An  amateur  drummer 
'  once  came  to  Rossini  pleading  for  an  engagement  at 
the  Opera.  He  had  brought  his  instrument  with  him, 
and  Rossini  said  he  would  hear  him  "play."  It  chanced 
that  the  piece  selected  had  a  rest  of  seventy-eight  bars, 
and  the  drummer  naturally  proposed  to  skip  these. 
"  Oh  no,"  said  Rossini ;  "  by  all  means  count  the 
seventy-eight  bars  ;  I  particularly  wish  to  hear  them.'' 
There  are  many  stories  connected  with  William  Tell. 
It  was  always  too  long,  and  even  in  Paris,  soon  after 
its  production,  the  management  began  to  perform  only 
one  act  at  a  time.  "  I  hope  you  won't  be  annoyed,"  said 
the  manager  one  morning  to  Rossini,  "  but  to-night  we 
propose  to  perform  the  second  act."  "What,  the  whole 
of  it  ?  "  Rossini  asked  in  reply.  He  was  altogether  an 
original  character.  Sir  Arthur  Sullivan  once  found  him 
writing  a  piece  for  his  dog's  birthday.  Like  Ruskin, 
he  was  opposed  to  railways,  and  used  to  transport  him- 
self about  in  a  caravan.  He  was  as  fat  as  Falstaff 
himself,  and  was  a  prodigious  snuffer.  All  his  life  he 
had  a  dread  of  the  number  thirteen,  as  well  as  of 
Fridays.  He  would  never  invite  more  than  twelve 
guests  to  dinner,  and  when  once  he  had  fourteen, 
he  made  sure  of  an  "  understudy  "  who  would  at  a 
moment's  notice  have  been  ready  to  come  should  one 
guest  have  failed  him.  And,  though  this  was  a  double 
superstition,  he  died  on  Friday,  November   13  (1868). 


222  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Bellini  and  Donizetti 

After  the  production  of  William  Tell  at  Paris  in 
1829,  Rossini  ceased  to  write  for  the  stage  ;  practically 
ceased,  in  fact,  to  write  music  at  all.  That  he  should 
suddenly  retire  from  public  life  before  he  had  reached 
his  prime  and  when  his  fame  was  at  its  zenith,  isapheno- 
menon  difficult  to  explain  except  by  his  own  statement 
that  he  had  "  a  passion  for  idleness."  His  withdrawal 
was,  however,  a  boon  to  Bellini,  and  also  to  Donizetti. 
It  gave  them  both  a  chance,  of  which  they  made  the 
best  use.  Bellini  and  Donizetti  were  very  minor  stars 
compared  with  Rossini,  but  they  shared  much  of  his 
popularity.  Only  twenty-five  years  ago  it  was  written 
in  a  certain  dictionary  of  music  :  "  Of  the  masterpieces 
of  Bellini  and  Donizetti  it  is  surely  unnecessary  to 
speak,  since  they  still  hold  firm  possession  of  the  stage, 
and  are  not  likely  to  be  soon  replaced  by  newer  favour- 
ites." It  is  never  safe  to  prophesy  unless  one  knows. 
Wagner  has  cut  into  Bellini  and  Donizetti,  as  into 
others  of  their  school,  and  neither  managers  nor  public 
at  present  show  any  great  enthusiasm  for  Bellini's 
Norma^  La  Sonnambula^  and  I  Puritani  \  or  for  Doni- 
zetti's Lucia  di  Latmnermoor^  La  Favorita^  and  La  Fille 
du  Regiment.    Other  times,  other  music. 

Yet  it  is  very  curious  to  recall  the  fact  that  Wagner 
praised  Bellini's  Norjna,  and  selected  it  for  his  benefit 
at  Riga  in  1837.  On  the  playbill  he  wrote  this  :  "Of 
all  Bellini's  creations  Norma  is  that  which  unites  the 
richest  flow  of  melody  with  the  deepest  glow  of  truth, 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    223 

and  even  the  most  determined  opponents  of  the  new 
Italian  school  of  music  do  this  composition  the  justice 
of  admitting  that,  speaking  to  the  heart,  it  shows  an 
inner  earnestness  of  aim."  Rossini  also  liked  Norma, 
Bellini  had  a  pathetically  brief  career.  He  died  when 
he  was  only  thirty-three,  while  a  brother,  a  fourth-rate 
church  composer,  lived  to  be  eighty-two. 

Though  born  at  Bergamo,  Donizetti  was  of  Scottish 
descent.  His  grandfather  was  a  native  of  Perthshire, 
named  Izett.  The  young  Scot  was  beguiled  by  the 
fascinating  tongue  of  a  recruiting-sergeant  into  His 
Britannic  Majesty's  service,  and  was  taken  prisoner 
by  General  La  Hoche  during  the  latter's  invasion  of 
Ireland.  Already  tired  of  a  private's  life,  he  accepted 
the  situation,  and  was  induced  to  become  the  French 
general's  private  secretary.  Subsequently  he  drifted 
to  Italy,  and  married  an  Italian  lady  of  some  rank, 
denationalising  his  own  name  into  Donizetti.  No  com- 
poser except  Mozart  had  a  more  remarkable  musical 
memory  than  Donizetti.  Wishing  to  procure  for 
Mayer  a  copy  of  an  opera  which  was  being  performed 
at  Bologna,  and  which  the  impresario  refused  to  lend, 
Donizetti  had  such  a  lively  recollection  of  the  music 
after  hearing  it  two  or  three  times  that  he  was  able  to 
put  it  down  on  paper  from  beginning  to  end.  When 
composing  he  always  kept  a  small  ivory  scraper  near 
his  hand,  though  he  never  used  it.  It  was  given  him 
by  his  father  when  he  began  his  career,  with  the  in- 
junction to  write  as  little  rubbish  as  possible.  The 
scraper  was  meant,  no  doubt,  for  making  frequent  cor- 


224  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

rcctions.  But  Donizetti  seldom  bothered  about  correc- 
tions. He  was  one  of  the  rapid  composers.  Some 
merry  friends  were  spending  an  evening  with  him  at 
Rome  in  1833.  Suddenly  he  withdrew  from  the  room, 
but  returned  in  half  an  hour.  "  Why  did  you  leave  us?" 
he  was  asked.  "  I  have  composed  the  finale  of  the  first 
act,"  was  the  reply.  Lucia,  which  Rossini  considered 
his  masterpiece,  was  written  in  six  weeks. 

Great  composers  become  attached  to  their  pianos, 
instruments  which  more  or  less  help  them  in  their 
creations.  Donizetti  was  no  exception.  In  1844, 
having  gone  to  live  in  Vienna,  he  made  arrangements 
to  sell  off  the  furniture  in  his  house  at  Naples.  "  But 
do  not  at  any  price,"  he  writes,  "  sell  the  piano,  which 
contains  in  it  my  whole  artistic  life.  It  has  sounded 
in  my  ears  since  1822.  Oh  let  it  live  so  that  I  may 
live  !  With  it  I  passed  through  the  period  of  hope,  of 
conjugal  life,  of  solitude.  It  has  witnessed  my  joys, 
my  tears,  my  illusions,  honours ;  it  has  shared  with 
me  my  toils  and  fatigues  ;  in  it  lives  every  epoch  of 
my  career."  This  belauded  instrument,  it  may  be 
added,  is  now  in  the  care  of  the  municipality  of 
Bergamo.  Donizetti,  like  Schumann,  fell  into  melan- 
choly. In  fact  symptoms  of  dementia  appeared,  and 
he  died  from  a  second  shock  of  paralysis. 

Verdi 

It  is  a  far  cry  from  Bellini  and  Donizetti  to 
Giuseppe  Verdi,  who  was,  nevertheless,  their  legitimate 
successor  in  opera.    Verdi  used  to  be  called  the  Grand 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    225 

Old  Man  of  music,  and  such  indeed  he  was,  for  he 
lived  to  be  eighty-eight.  Born  at  the  village  of  Roncole, 
near  Parma,  within  a  few  months  of  Wagner,  he  sur- 
vived Wagner  for  eighteen  years.  His  operatic  career 
was  divided  broadly  into  two  great  periods,  with  an 
interregnum,  during  which  he  wrote  nothing.  And 
here  is  the  phenomenon  :  that  he  blossomed  out  in 
his  old  age  with  a  style  of  opera  so  totally  different 
from  the  works  of  his  first  period,  so  much  grander 
and  more  artistic,  as  to  make  us  almost  regard  him 
as  two  different  composers.  //  Trovatore  and  La 
Traviata  were  among  the  early  works  which  received 
the  applause  of  the  public  and  held  their  own,  the 
first  especially,  until  quite  recent  years.  Then,  when 
Wagner's  influence  began  to  be  felt  in  opera,  Verdi 
regenerated  his  style  and  produced  Aida,  which  re- 
places the  meaningless  trivialities  and  vocal  fireworks 
of  the  first  Verdi  operas  by  a  dignity,  a  power,  and  a 
majesty  that  still  procure  it  the  favour  of  cultivated 
musical  people. 

It  was  after  Aida  (for  which  he  received  ;^3000) 
that  Verdi  took  his  long  rest.  Sixteen  years  passed, 
and  then  he  began  to  sound  the  depths  of  his  genius. 
First,  in  1887,  when  he  was  seventy-four,  came  Othello  ; 
and  next,  in  1893,  when  he  was  eighty,  Falstaff.  Just 
think  of  it — the  very  finest  of  a  long  line  of  operas  pro- 
duced when  the  composer  was  fourscore  !  It  was  even 
said  that  Verdi  would  have  written  still  another 
Shakespearean  opera  but  for  the  awful  labour  of 
putting  so  many  notes  on  paper.    He  used  to  work 

Q 


226  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

eight  hours  at  a  stretch  and  feel  all  the  better  for  it, 
but  at  eighty  an  hour  tired  him. 

His  vitality  was  no  doubt  due  to  the  simple  life  he 
had  always  lived.  His  people  were  poor — the  father 
kept  a  small  inn — and  for  long  he  was  poor  himself. 
He  played  the  organ  in  the  village  church  for  six 
years,  and  his  salary  was  less  than  ;^5.  He  married 
very  early,  and  after  five  years  was  bereft  of  wife  and 
family  almost  at  a  single  stroke.  His  bambino  fell  ill 
first,  and  died  in  the  arms  of  his  mother,  who  was 
beside  herself  with  grief  and  despair.  That  was  not  all. 
A  few  days  after,  his  little  daughter  sickened,  and  her 
complaint  also  terminated  fatally.  But  this  even  was 
not  all.  A  few  weeks  later  the  composer's  young  life- 
companion  was  attacked  by  acute  brain  fever,  and 
soon  a  third  coffin  was  carried  from  the  house.  "  I 
was  alone !  alone ! "  wrote  Verdi.  "In  the  space  of 
about  two  months,  three  loved  ones  had  disappeared 
for  ever."  And  in  the  midst  of  this  terrible  anguish, 
to  avoid  breaking  an  engagement,  he  was  compelled 
to  write  and  finish  a  comic  opera ! 

Fortunately  Verdi's  finances  prospered.  His  operas 
paid  him  from  the  first,  and  with  //  Trovatore  his 
fortune  was  made.  Theatre  after  theatre  produced  it 
after  it  was  first  heard  in  Rome.  At  Naples  three 
houses  were  giving  it  at  the  same  time.  The  composer 
bought  a  fine  country  estate  in  1849,  and  there  he 
continued  to  live  in  almost  complete  seclusion.  He 
was  not,  one  gathers,  a  very  genial  person.  At  a 
rehearsal  of  Falstaff  the  artists  gave  him  an  ovation 


A  CLUSTER  FROM  THE  OPERATIC  BRANCH    227 

when  he  entered.  "  I  thank  you  all,"  he  said,  "  but 
will  thank  you  more  if  you  do  better  in  your  perform- 
ances than  last  time."  He  was  not  enthusiastic  over 
his  fellow-composers  of  the  younger  school.  Mascagni 
ventured  to  ask  if  he  would  attend  the  first  performance 
of  his  Ratcliffe,  "  No,"  he  replied.  '*  If  I  did,  every- 
body would  want  to  know  next  day  what  I  thought 
of  it,  and  I  really  shouldn't  know  what  to  say."  An 
experience  of  Leoncavallo  was  not  much  happier. 
Verdi  did  go  to  a  rehearsal  of  one  of  Leoncavallo's 
operas,  but  all  he  said  was,  when  the  composer  was 
pointed  out  to  him  :  "  Oh,  so  Leoncavallo  is  the  young 
fellow  in  the  light  overcoat." 

There  are  stories  which  show  Verdi  in  a  better 
light.  This  one,  for  instance,  connected  with  the  pro- 
duction of  Aida  at  Milan  :  A  certain  person  named 
Bertoni  went  from  a  neighbouring  village  to  hear  the 
opera.  His  outing,  including  supper,  cost  him  15 
francs  19  centimes.  He  happened  not  to  like  Aida. 
However,  next  day,  finding  it  praised  on  all  hands,  he 
resolved  to  give  it  another  trial.  This  time  he  spent 
20  francs,  and  was  more  dissatisfied  than  ever.  Full 
of  anger,  he  wrote  to  Verdi  telling  him  that  the  opera 
was  a  failure,  doomed  to  early  oblivion,  and  asking 
for  the  return  of  35  francs  90  centimes,  which  sum, 
he  alleged,  he  had  wasted  in  going  to  hear  it.  Verdi 
was  not  offended  in  the  least ;  in  fact,  he  sided  with 
the  aggrieved  one.  Taking  a  pen  in  hand,  he  authorised 
his  publisher  to  send  Bertoni  31  francs  50  centimes, 
adding :  "  It  is  not  quite  so  much  as  the  gentleman 


228  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

demands,  but  then  he  could  have  had  his  supper  at 
home."  The  story  may  not  be  true,  but,  as  a  witty 
Frenchman  once  said  of  a  similar  tale,  St  non  e  Verdi 
I  ben  Trovatore.  Verdi  is  charged  with  having  been 
very  parsimonious ;  but  if  that  were  really  the  case, 
he  has  the  thanks  of  his  own  class,  for  he  left  his 
fortune,  ;^  120,000,  to  the  home  for  aged  and  indigent 
musicians  which  he  had  already  founded  at  Milan. 


STARS   AMONG   THE   PLANETS 

Music,  oh  how  faint,  how  weak, 

Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 
Why  should  Feeling  ever  speak, 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well  ? 

Moore. 

Of  the  great  composers  who  have  been  dealt  with 
in  separate  chapters,  the  nineteenth  century  gave  us 
Wagner,  Schumann,  Chopin,  and  Mendelssohn.  But 
these  names  by  no  means  exhaust  the  Hst  of  that 
century's  notables  to  whom  music  owes  debts  in 
various  degrees  and  kinds.  There  were  other  stars,  of 
lesser  magnitude  to  be  sure,  but  still  stars.  Perhaps 
among  them  we  should  reckon  a  few  of  the  men  who 
linked  the  eighteenth  century  with  the  nineteenth. 
Curiously  enough,  these  were  nearly  all  associated 
with  the  piano. 

Clementi. — Taking  them  in  their  order  of  birth, 
there  was  first  Muzio  Clementi  (1752-1832),  author 
of  the  famous  Gradus  ad  Parnassum^  and  of  so  many 
studies  that  it  was  jokingly  asserted  not  long  ago 
that  the  commission  appointed  to  count  them  had  not 
yet  arrived  at  the  total.  Upon  the  Gradus  to  this  day 
the  art  of  solo  piano-playing  rests ;  while  the  twelve 

229 


230  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Clementi  Sonatinas  are  as  well  known  to  young 
pianists  as  anything  ever  written  for  the  instrument. 
Clementi  lived  through  the  most  memorable  period  in 
the  history  of  music.  At  his  birth  Handel  was  alive, 
and  before  he  died  Beethoven,  Schubert,  and  Weber 
were  buried.  One  writer  says  he  was  "  chiefly  notable 
for  his  miserly  qualities,  by  which  he  rendered  miser- 
able three  successive  wives."  Anyway,  he  was  a  prince 
among  teachers,  and  during  his  long  stay  in  England 
he  greatly  influenced  the  art  of  piano-playing  in  the 
country.    His  grave  is  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

Pleyel. — The  name  of  Ignaz  Pleyel  (1757-183 1)  is 
also  familiar  to  the  piano  student.  He  was  born  near 
Vienna,  the  twenty-fourth  child  of  a  poor  schoolmaster, 
and  for  five  years  he  resided  with  Haydn,  who  gave  him 
board  and  instruction.  In  1795  he  went  to  Paris  and 
established  first  a  music  firm  (Kalkbrenner,  who  pro- 
posed to  teach  Chopin,  was  a  partner)  and  then  a  piano 
factory.  The  Pleyel  pianos  became  quite  celebrated. 
Chopin  had  one  in  his  rooms.  At  one  time  Pleyel's 
works  took  complete  possession  of  the  public  ear ;  in 
fact,  for  ten  years  at  least,  "only  for  them  was  there 
a  market."  It  was  very  funny,  but  to  stem  the  tide  of 
Haydn's  popularity,  the  Italian  faction  in  London 
imported  Pleyel  to  conduct  rival  concerts.  Haydn 
kept  his  temper,  and  wrote  :  "  Pleyel  behaves  him- 
self with  great  modesty.  I  go  to  all  his  concerts  and 
applaud  him,  but  his  presumption  is  a  public  laughing- 
stock." Far  different  were  the  amenities  that  passed 
between  Haydn  and  Giardini,  another  imported  rival. 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  231 

"  I  won't  know  the  German  hound,"  exclaimed 
Giardini.  *'  I  attended  his  concert  at  Ranelagh,  and 
he  played  the  fiddle  like  a  hog,"  said  Haydn. 

Dussek. — Then,  still  following  chronological  order, 
there  was  J.  L.  Dussek  (i  761- 18 12),  who  takes  a  still 
higher  position  in  the  classical  piano  school.  After 
many  wanderings  on  the  Continent,  he,  too,  tried 
publishing  in  London,  but  the  business  failed  and 
plunged  him  into  debt.  At  last,  in  1808,  he  entered 
the  service  of  Prince  Talleyrand,  in  Paris,  and  re- 
established his  finances.  Dussek,  as  Riemann  says, 
was  one  of  the  first,  if  not  the  first,  to  make  the  piano 
"  sing."  Though  they  are  not  often  heard  in  the  con- 
cert room,  his  piano  compositions  have  life  in  them 
yet,  and  are  distinguished  by  their  noble,  pleasant 
character.  It  is  interesting  to  know  that  most  of  the 
music  of  Don  Giovanni  was  composed  when  Mozart 
was  on  a  visit  to  Dussek,  whose  house  was  a  scene  of 
great  resort  and  revelry  while  Mozart  was  his  guest. 

Cramer. — Yet  another  name  connected  with  music 
publishing.  The  firm  of  Cramer  and  Co.  still  flourishes. 
It  was  founded  by  that  J.  B.  Cramer  (1771-1858) 
whose  Studies  have  achieved  immortality  and  made 
his  name  a  household  word.  He  was  a  German,  a 
pupil  of  Clementi,  but  he  established  himself  in  London 
after  gaining  Continental  fame  as  a  pianist.  He  wrote 
many  things  for  the  piano,  but  nothing  to  match  the 
Studies,  the  poetical  spirit  of  which  has  always  made 
them  agreeable  to  both  pupils  and  teachers.  There 
is  a  very  good  story  of  Cramer.    Once,  when  filling 


232  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

a  professional  engagement  at  Manchester,  he  went 
to  dine  with  a  friend  and  greatly  praised  a  dish  of 
turnips  on  the  table.  Not  long  after,  Cramer  received 
a  letter  from  his  host  saying  that  he  had  sent  by 
waggon  a  present  of  "  a  few  turnips."  The  present 
arrived — a  whole  hogshead  of  turnips — and  Cramer 
had  the  felicity  of  paying  two  guineas  for  the  carriage. 
Hummel. — Cramer  had  a  rival  as  a  pianist,  and 
his  name  was  J.  N.  Hummel  (1778-1837).  Hummel 
received  his  early  lessons  from  Mozart,  and  was,  like 
Mozart,  a  prodigy  at  the  keyboard.  Later  on  he 
came  into  contact  with  Beethoven,  whom  he  was  con- 
sidered to  excel  as  an  extemporiser.  As  has  been 
mentioned,  he  was  also  for  some  time  Beethoven's 
rival  in  love,  having  married  a  sister  of  the  singer 
Roeckel,  to  whom  Beethoven  was  greatly  attached. 
Latterly,  he  renounced  playing  in  public,  and  devoted 
himself  almost  entirely  to  composition  and  teaching. 
It  is  recorded  of  him  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
wearing  a  small  velvet  cap  when  in  his  study  compos- 
ing. One  day  a  gentleman  called  on  him  to  inquire 
his  terms  for  teaching  composition,  and  after  being 
satisfied  on  that  point,  asked  Hummel  why  he  con- 
tinually wore  his  velvet  cap.  Hummel,  a  bit  of  a  wag, 
having,  we  may  suppose,  already  taken  his  visitor's 
measure,  said  that  he  could  not  compose  a  bar  without 
it,  for  he  never  felt  inspired  until  he  had  donned  his 
cap.  Next  morning  the  gentleman  came,  according  to 
arrangement,  for  his  first  lesson.  Hummel  provided 
him  with  ruled  paper  and  pen  and  ink,  and  was  just 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  233 

about  to  begin  his  instructions,  when  the  pupil  drew 
from  his  pocket  a  handsome  velvet  cap,  a  long  gold 
tassel  depending  therefrom.  Popping  this  on,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  Now  for  it ! "  with  great  energy.  Hummel 
smiled,  but  allowed  his  pupil  to  enjoy  his  imaginary 
inspiration  throughout  the  lesson.  Whether  the  pupil 
came  again  history  sayeth  not.  One  or  two  of 
Hummel's  compositions  survive,  but  his  style  is  rather 
old-fashioned  and  lacking  in  passion. 

Czerny. — Of  Carl  Czerny  (1791-1857)  what  shall  be 
said  ?  Pianists  innumerable,  amateur  and  professional, 
have  been  tortured  by  Czerny 's  Exercises  or  his  School 
of  Velocity.  There  never  was  such  a  man  for  writing 
exercises  and  studies.  It  is  said  he  wrote  one  every 
day.  But  the  best  of  them  are  very  good  indeed,  for 
Czerny  *'  understood  better  than  any  one  else  the 
simple  primitive  forms  from  which  all  piano  passage- 
writing  is  evolved."  He  had  himself  been  taught  by 
Beethoven  ;  and  in  his  turn  he  helped  to  make  such 
giants  of  piano  technique  as  Liszt  and  Thalberg.  Liszt 
used  his  studies  until  the  very  last  for  technical 
purposes.  Leschetizky,  Paderewski's  teacher,  also  uses 
Czerny  almost  exclusively  with  his  pupils.  The  last 
time  Liszt  visited  Vienna  before  his  death,  he  was  at 
Leschetizky's  villa.  His  playing  even  then  was  wonder- 
ful, and  Leschetizky  took  occasion  to  ask  him  how  he 
kept  his  technique.  "  I  will  tell  you,"  he  said  :  "  I 
practise  the  Czerny  exercises  a  good  half-hour  every 
day."  Czerny  lived  practically  all  his  days  in  Vienna, 
teaching  and  composing. 


234  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Moscheles. — Finally  among  the  piano-virtuoso 
composers  comes  Ignaz  Moscheles  (1794- 1870),  whose 
Studies  (Op.  70)  remain  to  this  day  a  standard  work, 
though  his  piano  pieces  and  concertos  have  mostly 
gone  to  oblivion.  As  a  juvenile,  Moscheles  played  so 
well  that  he  was  noticed  by  Beethoven,  but  he  was 
twenty-six  before  he  made  a  sensation  on  his  recital 
tours.  He  settled  for  a  time  in  London,  where  he  was 
much  sought  after  as  a  teacher  ;  but  when  Mendels- 
sohn established  the  Leipzig  Conservatorium  he 
tempted  Moscheles  to  take  a  professorship,  and  he 
continued  in  this  post  to  the  end  of  his  life.  He  was 
one  of  Mendelssohn's  most  intimate  friends.  They 
would  often  extemporise  together,  '*  throwing  a  theme 
to  right  and  left  as  if  it  were  a  shuttlecock  ;  here  hold- 
ing it  in  bonds,  there  developing  it  on  classical  lines ; 
now  causing  each  other  merriment  by  the  conflicting 
harmonies,  and  again  playing  with  four  hands,  but  only 
one  soul."  There  is  an  amusing  story  of  their  hiring 
some  chairs  for  a  village  concert.  Mendelssohn  said 
they  were  for  the  great  pianist  Moscheles ;  but  the 
mercenary  inn-keeper  said  that  great  pianists  had  a 
way  of  giving  concerts,  pocketing  the  money,  and  dis- 
appearing. Cash  down  was  demanded  and  paid,  and 
the  loading  up  of  a  cab  with  chairs  made  a  sufficiently 
diverting  picture.  Moscheles  and  Chopin  were  friendly, 
and  the  two  were  once  invited  to  play  before  Louis 
Philippe.  The  king  sent  Chopin  a  gold  cup  and 
saucer,  and  to  Moscheles  a  travelling-case,  "  the  sooner 
to  get  rid  of  him,"  Chopin  jocularly  said. 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  235 

Cherubini. — Such  were  the  notable  pianist  com- 
posers who  bridged  the  two  centuries.  If  we  add  to 
the  list  the  names  of  Cherubini  (1760- 1 842),  often 
mentioned  in  former  chapters,  and  Spohr  (1784- 18 59), 
we  shall  be  ready  to  take  up  the  nineteenth-century 
men  proper.  Cherubini  had  the  distinction  of  being 
described  by  Beethoven  as  "  the  most  estimable  of  liv- 
ing musicians,"  but  he  was  a  somewhat  pedantic  person, 
and  we  associate  his  name  chiefly  with  church  music 
and  with  his  theoretical  treatises,  though  his  opera 
Les  Deux  Journhs  once  had  some  vogue.  Chopin 
described  him  as  a  mummy.  He  had  pride  and 
dignity,  and  could  snub  even  the  mighty  Napoleon. 
The  pair  were  once  seated  in  the  same  box,  listening 
to  one  of  Cherubini's  operas.  Napoleon's  taste  was 
for  the  suave  and  sensuous  style,  and  at  the  close 
of  the  performance  he  turned  to  Cherubini  and  said  : 
*'  My  dear  Cherubini,  you  are  certainly  an  excellent 
musician ;  but  really  your  music  is  so  noisy  and  com- 
plicated that  I  can  make  nothing  of  it."  To  which 
Cherubini  replied  :  "  My  dear  General,  you  are  cer- 
tainly an  excellent  soldier ;  but  in  regard  to  music, 
you  must  excuse  me  if  I  don't  think  it  necessary  to 
adapt  my  music  to  your  comprehension."  This  was 
almost  as  bold  as  Liszt's  declining  to  continue  his 
piano-playing  before  the  Czar,  because  the  Czar  had 
dared  to  talk  while  the  great  man  was  at  the  keyboard. 
But  the  proud  Cherubini  never  learned  to  "  crook  the 
pregnant  hinges  of  his  knee  "  to  the  man  who  made 
Europe  tremble. 


236  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Spohr. — Ludvvig  Spohr,  a  native  of  Brunswick, 
was  a  great  violinist  rather  than  a  great  composer, 
though  his  two  violin  concertos  are  sometimes  chosen 
by  virtuosi  for  the  display  of  their  skill,  and  his 
oratorio.  The  Last  Judgment^  is  occasionally  per- 
formed. He  travelled  about  a  good  deal,  and  paid  a 
visit  to  England  at  the  invitation  of  the  Philharmonic 
Society  in  1820.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  this  visit 
that  he  made  the  first  use  in  England  of  the  now 
familiar  conductor's  baton.  He  was  anxious  to  make 
an  impression  on  the  Londoners,  so  before  he  set  out 
for  the  concert  he  put  on  a  bright  red  waistcoat. 
"  Scarcely  had  I  appeared  in  it  in  the  street,"  he  says, 
"  than  I  attracted  the  attention  of  all  who  passed. 
The  grown-up  people  contented  themselves  with  gaz- 
ing at  me  with  looks  of  surprise  ;  but  the  urchins  were 
loud  in  their  remarks,  which  unfortunately  I  did  not 
understand,  and  therefore  could  not  imagine  what  it 
was  in  me  that  so  much  displeased  them.  By  degrees, 
however,  they  formed  a  regular  tail  behind  me,  which 
grew  constantly  louder  in  speech  and  more  and  more 
unruly.  A  passer-by  addressed  me,  and  probably 
gave  me  some  explanation,  but  as  it  was  in  English  I 
derived  no  benefit  from  it."  Poor  Spohr,  thus  perse- 
cuted, made  for  the  house  of  his  friend  Ferdinand 
Ries,  when  Mrs.  Ries  explained  to  him  that  a  general 
mourning  had  been  officially  ordered  for  George  HI., 
whose  death  had  recently  taken  place,  and  therefore 
that  the  red  waistcoat  had  acted  as  a  red  rag  to 
sorrowing  John  Bull ! 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  237 

Now  we  will  take  a  quartet  of  stars,  and  once  more, 
with  one  exception,  in  the  order  of  their  birth. 

Berlioz 

Hector  Berlioz  had  a  curious  and  indeed  a  tragic 
career.  He  was  an  innovator,  and  he  was  never  under- 
stood. His  operas  were  kept  off  the  stage  by  Wagner's 
music  dramas,  while  his  symphonies  and  his  religious 
works  suffered  under  the  double  misfortune  of  difficulty 
and  eccentricity.  He  made  himself  enemies  all  along 
the  line.  As  a  student,  he  was  wayward,  pugnacious, 
and  cursed  with  that  sardonic  humour  which  makes 
foes  among  fools.  He  did  not  reverence  his  professors 
at  the  Conservatoire,  and  he  had  a  poor  opinion  of 
contemporary  French  and  Italian  composers.  Open 
enemies  and  secret  ill-wishers  surrounded  him  on 
every  hand.  He  said  many  things  that  music  had  not 
said  before ;  and  he,  and  he  alone,  brought  French 
music  at  a  bound  into  line  with  all  the  new  work  that 
was  being  done  elsewhere  in  poetry,  in  prose,  and  in 
art. 

But  he  threw  away  almost  his  last  chance  by  the 
enormous  demands  he  made  upon  players  and  con- 
ductors. It  is  this  which  specially  characterises  Berlioz 
as  a  composer.  Big  things,  and  particularly  big, 
horrible  things,  had  a  fatal  fascination  for  him.  The 
ordinary  orchestra,  the  ordinary  chorus,  the  ordinary 
concert  room,  would  never  do  for  him  ;  everything 
must  be  magnified,  as  it  were,  beyond  life-size.  He 
once  talked  of  an  opera  in  which  a  wicked  King  was 


2  38  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

to  arrange  a  burlesque  of  the  Day  of  Judgment,  only 
to  have  his  performance  interrupted  by  the  real  com- 
ing of  Christ  and  the  blast  of  angel  trumpeters.  He 
heard  children  singing  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  and 
had  a  vision  of  devils  burlesquing  the  scene  in  hell  ! 
His  mind  seemed  steeped  in  horrors.  Wagner  said  of 
him  :  "  He  lies  buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  his  own 
machines."  Heine's  estimate  of  him  is  well  worth 
quoting  :  '*  A  colossal  nightingale,  a  lark  the  size  of  an 
eagle,  such  as  once  existed,  they  say,  in  the  primitive 
world.  Yes,  the  music  of  Berlioz  in  general  has  for 
me  something  primitive,  almost  antediluvian  ;  it  sets 
me  dreaming  of  gigantic  species  of  extinct  animals,  of 
mammoths,  of  fabulous  empires  with  fabulous  sins,  of 
all  kinds  of  impossibilities  piled  one  on  top  of  the 
other ;  these  magic  accents  recall  to  us  Babylon,  the 
hanging  gardens  of  Semiramis,  the  marvels  of  Nineveh, 
the  audacious  edifices  of  Mizraim."  After  all,  Berlioz 
was  one  of  the  big  men  who  compel  not  only  admira- 
tion in  what  they  achieve,  but  sympathy  in  what  they 
aim  at  and  fail  to  compass.  His  very  exaggerations 
dispose  one  to  like  him,  he  was  so  desperately  in 
earnest,  and  often  where  he  fails  he  commands  the 
respect  due  to  an  intrepid  voyager  in  strange  lands. 

Hector  Berlioz  was  born  at  Cote  St.-Andr6  in 
December  1 803.  His  father  was  a  doctor  and  an  opium 
eater,  and  the  general  opinion  is  that  to  the  opium- 
eatine  should  be  attributed  much  that  was  unbalanced 
and  morbid  in  the  son.  The  father  wanted  him  to 
be  a  doctor,  but  he  rebelled.    "  Become  a  physician  ! " 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  239 

he  cried ;  "  study  anatomy ;  dissect ;  take  part  in 
horrible  operations  ?  No  !  no !  that  would  be  a  total 
subversion  of  the  natural  course  of  my  life."  So,  much 
against  his  parents'  wishes,  he  went  to  Paris,  and, 
amid  many  trials  and  privations,  studied  at  the  Con- 
servatoire. Later  on,  like  so  many  more  composers, 
he  went  to  Italy  to  complete  his  training.  From 
Rome  he  was  recalled  in  a  very  amusing  way.  It  was 
almost  a  necessity  of  Berlioz's  nature  that  he  should 
be  in  love,  and  his  passions  were  of  such  heat  and 
fervour  that  they  rarely  failed  to  carry  him  beyond  all 
bounds  of  reason. 

It  was  so  now.  He  heard  that  a  frivolous  and  un- 
scrupulous Parisian  beauty,  who  had  bled  his  not  over- 
filled purse  rather  freely,  was  about  to  be  married. 
The  news  should  have  given  him  joy,  but,  instead  of 
that,  it  set  up  a  spirit  of  revenge,  and  he  hurried  off 
to  Paris  with  loaded  pistols,  not  even  waiting  for  pass- 
ports. He  attempted  to  cross  the  frontier  in  women's 
clothes,  and  was  arrested.  A  variety  of  contretemps 
occurred  before  he  reached  the  capital,  and  by  that 
time  his  rage  had  cooled  and  the  pistols  were  thrown 
aside.  The  incident  is  thoroughly  characteristic  of 
Berlioz. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  he  saw  a  pretty  Irish 
actress  on  the  stage,  and  fell  hopelessly  in  love  with  her. 
A  romantic  passion  it  was,  and  it  dominated  Berlioz's 
life.  Harriet  Smithson  was  playing  Shakespeare,  and 
for  Berlioz  she  became  a  celestial  divinity,  a  lovely 
ideal  of  art  and  beauty,  a  personification  of  the  trans- 


240  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

cendent  genius  of  the  dramatist.  To  win  her  for  him- 
self became  the  end  and  aim  of  Berlioz's  existence. 
His  first  step  was  to  give  a  concert,  at  great  expense, 
at  which  he  hoped  she  would  be  present.  But,  alas ! 
the  concert  turned  out  a  fiasco,  and  the  adored  one 
was  not  there.  Berlioz  was  in  utter  despair.  But  luck 
was  yet  to  favour  him,  and  in  a  most  unexpected 
way.  Miss  Smithson  became  involved  in  pecuniary 
difficulties  ;  and,  to  make  matters  worse,  she  met  with 
an  accident  which  prevented  her  again  appearing  on 
the  stage.  Now  was  the  composer's  chance.  He  had 
no  great  means  of  his  own,  yet  he  at  once  offered  to 
pay  all  the  lady's  debts,  and,  of  course,  to  marry  her 
as  well.  She  accepted  him ;  but,  alas !  with  the 
marriage  came  the  end  of  the  romance.  She  who  had 
once  been  an  angel  now  turned  out  a  shrew.  She  had 
a  vile  temper,  was  fretful  and  peevish,  and  by  and  by 
became  obsessed  by  an  ungovernable  jealousy,  for 
which  there  was  no  cause.  At  last,  unable  to  endure 
the  torture  any  longer,  Berlioz  arranged  a  separation, 
and  to  the  end  provided  for  her  wants  with  scrupulous 
fidelity. 

Two  of  Berlioz's  greatest  works — the  Symphonic 
Fantastique  and  the  Romeo  and  Juliet  symphony — were 
directly  inspired  by  his  passion  for  Harriet  Smithson. 
The  first  won  him  his  wife.  It  also  won  him  the 
handsome  pecuniary  reward  of  20,000  francs,  paid  him 
out  of  sheer  admiration  by  the  weird,  gaunt,  demon 
fiddler  Paganini,  of  whose  "  dark  flowing  hair  "  Leigh 
Hunt  sings.    He  wrote  in  almost  every  branch  of  com- 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  241 

position,  but  his  skill  lay  in  the  marvellous  way  in 
which  he  developed  the  resources  of  the  orchestra.  In 
number  of  parts  and  instruments  employed,  his 
Requiem  is  the  most  ambitious  score  in  existence. 

Writing  of  his  life  in  Paris  in  1837,  the  late  Sir 
Charles  Halle  gives  this  little  sketch  of  Berlioz,  then 
a  young  man  of  thirty-four :  "  There  never  lived  a 
musician  who  adored  his  art  more  than  did  Berlioz  ; 
he  was,  indeed,  '  enthusiasm  personified.'  To  hear  him 
speak  of,  or  rave  about,  a  real  chef-dceuvre  such  as 
Armida^  Iphigenie^  or  the  C  minor  symphony,  the 
pitch  of  his  voice  rising  higher  and  higher  as  he  talked, 
was  worth  any  performance  of  the  same.  And  what 
a  picture  he  was  at  the  head  of  his  orchestra,  with  his 
eagle  face,  his  bushy  hair,  his  air  of  command,  and 
glowing  with  enthusiasm.  He  was  the  most  perfect 
conductor  I  ever  set  eyes  upon,  one  who  held  absolute 
sway  over  his  troops,  and  played  upon  them  as  a 
pianist  upon  the  keyboard." 

For  a  genius  of  his  rank,  Berlioz  had  extraordinary 
limitations.  He  was  no  executant  upon  any  instrument 
(for  being  able  to  strum  a  few  chords  on  the  guitar 
does  not  count),  and  he  was  painfully  aware  how  much 
this  was  a  hindrance  to  him  and  to  his  knowledge  of 
musical  literature,  which  indeed  was  limited.  Halle 
was  often  astonished  to  find  that  works  familiar  to 
every  pianist  were  unknown  to  him — not  merely  works 
written  for  the  piano,  such  as  Beethoven's  sonatas,  of 
which  he  knew  but  few,  but  also  orchestral  works, 
oratorios,  etc.,  known    to   pianists   through    arrange- 

R 


242  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

ments.  Perhaps  many  undoubted  crudities  in  his  work 
would  have  been  eliminated  had  he  been  able  to  hear 
them  before  committing  them  to  paper,  for  the  eye 
alone  was  not  sufficient  to  give  him  a  clear  idea  of 
the  effect  of  his  musical  combinations.  Berlioz  died  in 
1869.  He  had  married  a  second  time,  but  he  outlived 
his  wife,  and  latterly  had  to  be  taken  care  of  by  his 
mother-in-law. 

Brahms 

Writing  from  Diisseldorf  in  1853,  Schumann  said  : 
"  We  are  now  living  in  a  very  musical  age.  A  young 
man  has  appeared  here  who  has  impressed  us  most 
deeply  with  his  wonderful  music,  and  who  will,  I  am 
quite  convinced,  make  a  great  sensation  in  the  musical 
world."  And  in  a  letter  to  Joachim,  bearing  the  same 
date,  he  writes  :  "  I  do  think  that  if  I  were  younger  I 
might  indite  a  few  polymeters  on  the  young  eagle  who 
has  flown  across  from  the  Alps  to  Diisseldorf  so  un- 
expectedly. Or  he  might  be  compared  to  a  splendid 
river  which,  like  Niagara,  is  at  its  grandest  when 
thundering  down  from  the  heights  as  a  waterfall,  bear- 
ing the  rainbow  in  its  waves,  its  banks  courted  by 
butterflies,  and  accompanied  by  nightingales'  songs. 
Well,  I  think  Johannes  is  the  true  apostle,  who  will 
write  revelations  which  many  Pharisees  will  be  unable 
to  explain,  even  after  centuries."  Five  days  later 
follows  another  letter  to  Dr.  H artel,  dwelling  on  the 
genius  displayed  in  Brahms'  compositions,  and  adding 
"  he  is  also  an  extraordinary  player." 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  243 

All  this  about  a  composer  who  is  now  looked  upon 
by  many  earnest  musical  students  as  the  only  legitimate 
successor  of  Beethoven.  And  certainly  if  any  one  can 
fairly  claim  to  have  taken  up  music  where  Beethoven 
laid  it  down,  it  is  Johannes  Brahms.  He  was  bred,  in 
a  musical  sense,  upon  Bach  and  Beethoven,  with  whom 
Von  Biilow  coupled  him  to  make  a  holy  trinity  of  music, 
"  the  three  B's."  But  the  worst  of  it  is  that  he  lacked 
the  appealing  emotional  sense  of  both  Bach  and  Beet- 
hoven. His  music,  fine  and  solid  as  it  is,  somehow  fails 
to  inspire  us.  He  is  at  least  not  welcome  to  the  coteries 
of  whom  it  has  been  sung  that  they, 

Fast  bound  at  their  suburban  level, 
Still  suffer  qualms  because  of  Brahms, 
And  wish  all  Wagner  at  the  devil. 

Some  of  his  admirers  put  his  piano  pieces  above  even 
those  of  Chopin ;  but  it  would  be  easy  to  show  that 
Chopin  is  not  only  more  artistic  but  more  scientific  in 
his  harmonies — that  Brahms  violates  not  only  art  and 
taste,  but  acoustics  as  well.  His  antiquated  chord 
groupings  might  have  been  tolerable  on  the  old  harpsi- 
chords, but  on  the  sonorous  modern  piano  they  are  too 
often  clashing  and  discordant.  Much  of  his  piano  music 
sounds  muddy,  and  some  of  it  is  positively  ugly.  Even 
his  orchestral  music  is  austere  and  "grey."  One  of  his 
biographers  extols  him  for  his  superiority  in  never 
worrying  about  trifles  of  composition,  "  often  cutting 
knots  which  might  better  have  been  untied."  This 
evidently  refers  to  the  slovenly  modulations  and  the 
juxtaposition  of  incongruous  keys,  which,  if  found  in 


244  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

another  composer,  would  be  instantly  condemned. 
Nevertheless  Brahms  was  a  great  composer,  and  it  is 
just  possible  that  in  not  fully  appreciating  him  now, 
we  are  in  the  position  of  the  poor  blind  people  who 
did  not  appreciate  "  Mr.  Van  Beethoven."  Only  time 
can  tell. 

Brahms'  biography  need  not  detain  us  long,  for  his 
career  was  one  of  the  least  eventful  that  the  history  of 
music  can  show.  He  was  born  at  Hamburg  in  1833, 
and  died  at  Vienna  in  1897,  having  lived  there  very 
quietly  for  thirty  years.  He  made  a  very  successful 
public  appearance  when  he  was  fourteen,  but  after  that 
he  went  into  retirement  and  studied  hard  for  five  years 
more.  Then  he  toured,  as  a  pianist,  with  Remenyi, 
the  eccentric  Hungarian  violinist.  Early  in  the  tour 
Remenyi  took  him  to  see  Liszt.  Liszt  sat  down  to  play 
some  of  his  own  works,  and  turning  round  after  a  time, 
he  beheld  Brahms  comfortably  asleep  in  an  armchair ! 

It  was  at  Gottingen  in  1853,  during  this  tour,  that 
a  turning-point  in  Brahms'  career  occurred.  He  was 
to  have  played  Beethoven's  Kreutzer  sonata  with 
Remenyi,  when  it  was  discovered,  to  the  latter's  horror, 
that  the  pianoforte  was  a  semitone  below  pitch  and 
that  he  would  have  to  tune  his  fiddle  down.  Brahms, 
however,  came  to  the  rescue  and  offered  to  play  the 
pianoforte  part  in  B  flat,  the  original  key  being  A.  This 
he  did  without  book,  and  it  was  a  feat  that  none  but 
a  musician  of  extraordinary  ability  could  have  accom- 
plished. Joachim,  who  was  present,  was  so  impressed 
with  the  promise  of  the  young  man,  two  years  his 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  245 

junior,  that  he  wrote  to  a  friend  :  "  Brahms  has  an 
altogether  exceptional  talent  for  composition,  a  gift 
that  is  enhanced  by  the  unaffected  modesty  of  his 
character.  His  playing,  too,  gives  every  presage  of  a 
great  artistic  career,  full  of  fire  and  energy,  yet,  if  I 
may  say  so,  unerring  in  its  precision  and  certainty  of 
touch.  In  brief,  he  is  the  most  considerable  musician  of 
his  age  that  I  have  ever  met."  Brahms  did  not,  how- 
ever, make  any  great  mark  as  a  pianist,  the  fact  being 
that  his  retiring  nature  made  him  averse  to  playing  in 
public. 

Brahms  never  touched  opera,  which  he  might  so 
well  have  done  with  his  great  gifts  as  a  song  writer 
and  his  vast  knowledge  of  the  resources  of  the  modern 
orchestra.  His  own  favourite  opera  was  Carmen,  but 
he  disliked  opera  on  principle,  and  when  he  went  to 
hear  one,  generally  left  after  the  first  act.  He  told 
Hanslick  that  it  would  be  as  hard  for  him  to  marry  as 
to  write  an  opera.  In  passing,  it  may  be  noted  that 
Brahms  admitted  he  might  have  married  when  he  was 
a  young  man  if  his  compositions  had  not  then  been  re- 
ceived with  such  frigid  indifference.  He  said  he  could 
not  bear  to  have  a  wife  pity  him  for  his  non-success. 
Some  wealthy  Viennese  women  set  their  caps  at  him, 
but  he  remained  obdurate.  In  his  later  years  he  was 
lonely  and  without  blood  relations  of  any  kind. 

As  man  and  musician  Brahms  had  many  of  the 
characteristics  of  Beethoven.  He  was  "  arbitrary  in 
musical  matters,  rough  in  his  ways,  furiously  severe 
with  any  who  trifled  with  music."   With  almost  clumsy 


246  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

modesty  he  approached  the  piano  or  the  conductor's 
desk ;  unwillingly  and  shyly  he  responded  to  the  stormy 
recalls,  and  could  not  disappear  again  quickly  enough. 
He  had  a  holy  horror  of  functions  and  formality,  and 
hated  getting  into  a  dress-coat.  Even  friends  some- 
times complained  of  his  coldness.  Once  at  a  soiree  he 
took  leave  of  the  guests  with  the  words  :  "  I  beg  pardon 
if  perchance  I  have  offended  nobody  to-day."  Again, 
when  an  importunate  hostess  who  had  been  pestering 
him  to  play  had  at  last  induced  him  to  sit  down  at  the 
piano,  he  struck  a  C  sharp  in  the  treble,  and  a  C  natural 
in  the  bass,  and  after  hammering  them  together  several 
times,  exclaimed  with  pretended  indignation  :  "  How 
can  you  expect  me  to  play  on  a  pianoforte  so  terribly 
out  of  tune  ? "  At  the  same  time,  when  he  chose,  no 
one  could  excel  him  in  the  art  of  graceful  compliments. 
Thus  he  inscribed  on  Madame  Strauss'  fan  a  bar  or 
two  of  her  husband's  Blue  Danube  waltz,  with  the  words : 
"  Unfortunately,  not  by  Johannes  Brahms." 

In  appearance  Brahms,  like  Beethoven  and  Wagner, 
was  short  of  stature,  with  a  stout  and  stumpy  figure, 
which  led  a  French  visitor  to  compare  him  with  a  barrel. 
But  the  ungainliness  of  his  figure  was  redeemed  by  a 
splendid  head  and  commanding  features,  stamped  in 
every  line  with  force  and  character.  He  lies  at  rest  in 
a  erave  of  honour  between  the  tombs  of  Beethoven  and 
Schubert,  and  not  far  from  where  Mozart  must  lie.  He 
was  one  of  the  very  few  composers  who,  beginning  life 
with  nothing,  died  rich,  having  left  the  comfortable 
fortune  of  ;^  14,000. 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  247 

Grieg 

To  the  musical  amateur  of  to-day,  no  recent  com- 
poser is  better  known  than  Edvard  Grieg.  Every  school 
girl  plays  his  smaller  piano  pieces  ;  young  violinists 
study  his  melodious  sonatas  ;  and  few  concert  numbers 
are  more  popular  than  the  Peer  Gynt  suite.  These,  with 
his  songs  and  his  romantic  pianoforte  concerto,  are  so 
well  known  and  admired  that  there  is  no  need  to  dwell 
on  their  merits.  It  was  at  the  suggestion  of  Ibsen  him- 
self that  Grieg  wrote  the  incidental  music  for  the  pro- 
duction of  Peer  Gynt  at  the  Christiania  Theatre  ;  and 
from  it  he  selected  portions  for  the  popular  suite. 
"  Write  how  you  like,  only  put  devilry  into  the  music," 
said  the  author  to  the  composer.  Ibsen  was  so  pleased 
with  the  result  that,  in  1876,  he  arranged  with  Grieg 
for  the  setting  of  a  libretto  which  had  been  lying  by 
him  for  several  years,  but  the  project  was  never  carried 
through. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  both  Grieg  and  Ibsen, 
the  most  prominent  men  in  latter-day  Norwegian  music 
and  letters,  traced  their  descent  from  Scottish  ancestors. 
Ibsen's  remote  ancestors  came  from  Fifeshire ;  and  in 
Mr.  Finck's  recent  volume  on  Grieg  it  is  shown  that 
the  composer's  grandfather,  Alexander  Greig,  was  an 
Aberdeen  merchant.  Alexander  Greig  was  concerned 
in  the  "  bonnie  Prince  Charlie"  business  of  1745,  but 
managed  to  escape  to  Bergen,  in  Norway,  as  other 
rebels  did.  He  changed  the  spelling  of  his  name 
to  Grieg,  to  suit  the  Norwegian  pronunciation,  and 


248  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

became  a  Bergen  merchant.  His  son  John  took  up 
the  business,  and  was  made  British  Consul  at  Bergen. 
John's  son,  Alexander,  was  also  merchant  and  Consul, 
and  was  the  father  of  the  composer.  Grieg  knew  all 
about  his  Scottish  ancestry,  and  he  was  deeply  inter- 
ested in  Scottish  national  music,  in  which  he  traced 
many  of  the  characteristics  of  that  of  his  beloved 
Norway. 

Grieg  was  born  at  Bergen  in  1843.  He  desired  to 
become  a  painter,  but  the  famous  Norwegian  violinist, 
Ole  Bull,  recommended  that  he  should  be  sent  to 
Leipzig  Conservatoire  to  study  music,  for  which  he  had 
shown  an  aptitude.  Shortly  before  his  death  he  wrote 
an  account  of  his  early  days,  in  which  he  said  :  "  I  could 
go  very  far  back,  back  to  the  earliest  years  of  my  child- 
hood. Why  should  I  not  go  right  back  ?  What  should 
hinder  me  from  recalling  the  wonderful  mysterious 
satisfaction  with  which  my  arms  stretched  out  to  the 
piano  to  discover — not  a  melody  ;  that  was  far  off ; — 
no ;  it  must  be  a  harmony,  first  a  third,  then  a  chord 
of  three  notes,  then  a  full  chord  of  four  ;  ending  at  last, 
with  both  hands, — O  joy  !  a  combination  of  five,  the 
chord  of  the  ninth.  When  I  found  that  out  my  happi- 
ness knew  no  bounds.  That  was  indeed  a  success  !  No 
later  success  ever  stirred  me  like  that.  I  was  about 
five  years  old."  These  juvenile  attempts  at  harmony 
are  of  special  interest  in  the  case  of  Grieg,  for  next 
to  his  gift  of  melodic  invention  are  the  romantic  har- 
monies with  which  he  clothes  and  delicately  colours 
his  musical  thoughts. 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  249 

He  says  himself  that  he  got  little  professional  good 
at  Leipzig.  But  this  was  probably  his  modesty.  Even 
in  his  last  year  he  wrote  :  "  What  I  have  accomplished 
in  large  and  small  works  signifies  for  me  personally 
a  continual  development,  and  yet,  unfortunately,  I  am 
conscious  never  to  have  reached  what  I  have  striven 
for.  So  to-day  I  cannot  name  a  single  work  as  truly 
a  first  composition.  What  remains  to  me  is  to  con- 
template the  wandering  through  art  and  life  as  the 
prelude  to  that  true  first-work,  of  which,  on  earth,  I  am 
only  able  to  dream."  In  1867  Grieg  married  his  cousin, 
Nina  Hagerup,  a  gifted  vocalist,  with  whom  he  gave 
concerts  in  Christiania  while  yet  a  struggling  musician. 
Shortly  afterwards  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Liszt, 
who  did  much  to  bring  his  genius  the  recognition  it 
deserved.  Grieg  soon  became  known  in  Germany, 
France,  Britain,  and  America,  and  to-day  he  occupies 
the  highest  position  among  Norwegian  composers. 

His  death  occurred  so  recently  as  September  1907, 
just  as  he  was  making  preparations  for  a  professional 
visit  to  England.  The  last  evening  he  said  to  his  nurse: 
"  I  am  not  able  to  sleep  :  I  shall  have  another  restless 
night."  Later  on,  feeling  that  he  was  dying,  he  said  to 
his  wife,  who  for  thirty  years  had  been  his  faithful  and 
sympathetic  companion  :  ''  So  this  is  the  end."  Men 
and  women  of  all  classes  in  Bergen  felt  his  loss  as  a 
personal  one.  He  had  long  suffered  from  poor  health, 
and  had  lived  for  thirty  years  with  one  lung.  He  would 
have  travelled  much  more  as  an  artist,  but  he  could  not 
stand  climatic  changes,  and  the  sea  was  a  terror  to  him. 


250  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

Once  he  crossed  from  Bergen  to  Aberdeen  to  see  the 
home  of  his  ancestors.  "  I  shall  never  forget  that  night 
of  horrors,"  he  said.  To  get  to  England  from  Bergen, 
he  travelled  through  seven  countries  and  crossed  at 
Calais  to  have  as  little  of  the  sea  as  possible.  But  he 
came  to  London  more  than  once,  and  was  always 
received  with  great  cordiality.  He  was  a  man  of  very 
simple  tastes  and  habits,  with  a  trace  of  superstition 
which  made  him  always  keep  a  mascot  in  the  shape  of 
a  doll  on  his  writing-desk.  The  best  description  of  his 
appearance  is  that  set  down  by  Tschaikowsky,  who 
met  him  in  1888,  when  he  was  forty-five.  During 
a  rehearsal  which  Tschaikowsky  was  conducting — 
"  There  entered  the  room  a  very  short,  middle-aged 
man,  exceedingly  fragile  in  appearance,  with  shoulders 
of  unequal  height,  fair  hair  brushed  back  from  his  fore- 
head, and  a  very  slight,  almost  boyish  beard  and  mous- 
tache. There  was  nothing  very  striking  about  the 
features  of  this  man,  whose  exterior  at  once  attracted 
my  sympathy,  for  it  would  be  impossible  to  call  them 
handsome  or  regular ;  but  he  had  an  uncommon 
charm,  and  blue  eyes  not  very  large,  but  irresistibly 
fascinating.  I  rejoiced  in  the  depths  of  my  heart  when 
we  were  introduced  to  each  other  and  it  turned  out 
that  this  personality  which  was  so  inexplicably  sym- 
pathetic to  me  belonged  to  a  musician  whose  warmly 
emotional  music  had  long  ago  won  my  heart.  He 
proved  to  be  the  Norwegian  composer,  Edvard  Grieg." 
Thus  Tschaikowsky  ;  and  Tschaikowsky  is  the  last  of 
our  quartet. 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  251 

TSCHAIKOWSKY 

It  is  not  without  design  that  we  bring  our  record  to 
a  close  with  his  name.  We  hear  it  continually  said — 
not  with  much  truth,  so  far  as  one  can  see — that  melan- 
choly is  the  maladie  du  siecle  ;  and  the  contention  is 
that  Tschaikowsky's  music  is  popular  because  it  ex- 
presses, as  no  other  music  does,  this  pessimism  of  the 
age.  Certainly  Tschaikowsky  is  a  master  of  grief,  of 
what  Ossian  calls  "  the  luxury  of  woe."  He  supremely 
recognised  that  his  art  was  the  expression  of  emotion  ; 
and  "  since  he  was  oftenest  sad,  'twas  oftenest  that  he 
spoke  sad  things."  His  flight  was  towards  the  west, 
towards  the  darkling  things,  the  day's  death,  the  com- 
ing of  night,  the  mystical  interlude  between  the  life 
that  was  and  the  life  that  is  to  be.  In  his  final  utter- 
ance, it  may  be  said  of  him  that  his  wing  lingered  in 
the  night-time,  and  when  the  arrows  of  the  sun  shot 
shyly  over  the  edge  of  the  eastern  sea  Tschaikowsky 
was  gone  :  his  day  was  done  in  an  ultimate  utterance 
of  musical  grief. 

Practically  speaking,  though  he  wrote  many  more 
things,  and  some  very  fine  things  too,  Tschaikowsky  is 
known,  and  will  probably  always  be  known,  almost 
solely  by  his  Pathetic  symphony ;  just  as  Gray  is 
known  solely  by  the  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard. 
And  considering  the  present  popularity  of  the  Pathetic, 
it  is  curious  to  reflect  that  it  is  not  so  lonsf  since 
Tschaikowsky  was  only  a  name  in  England.  He  had 
visited  England  twice  or  three  times  ;  but,  as  a  cynical 


252  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

critic  puts  it,  he  had  not  written  any  piece  without 
which  no  orchestral  programme  could  be  considered 
complete.  However,  when  his  fame  became  great, 
and  spread  on  the  Continent,  he  assumed  such  an 
importance  in  the  eyes  of  English  musicians  that 
Cambridge  University  honoured  itself  by  making  him 
a  Doctor  of  Music.  The  bestowing  of  this  distinction 
served  a  useful  purpose  by  calling  public  attention  to 
the  fact  that  there  was  living  a  man  who  had  written 
music  that  was  fresh,  a  trifle  strange  perhaps,  but  full 
of  vitality,  and  containing  a  new  throb,  a  new  thrill. 
Since  1893  his  reputation  has  steadily  grown  ;  but  if 
he  had  not  written  the  Pathetic  symphony  he  would 
have  been  no  better  known  now  than  he  was  then. 
That  great  work  caught  the  public  fancy,  and  the 
public  fancy  still  upholds  it. 

Peter  Ilyitch  Tschaikowsky  was  born  in  a  small 
Russian  town  in  1840,  the  son  of  a  well-to-do  mining 
and  military  engineer.  He  took  to  music  late,  like 
Wagner,  and  was  twenty -three  before  he  began  to 
study  instrumentation.  All  through  his  youth  he  was 
"  indolent,  popular,  fond  of  society,  a  graceful  amateur 
who  played  salon  pieces  at  evening  parties."  But  once 
embarked  on  his  musical  career,  he  attacked  his  studies 
with  even  furious  ardour.  He  often  worked  all  night ; 
and  Rubinstein,  who  taught  him  composition  at  the 
St.  Petersburg  Conservatoire,  tells  how,  on  one  occa- 
sion, he  submitted  no  fewer  than  200  variations  on  a 
single  theme.  He  made  such  progress,  indeed,  that 
when  only  twenty-six  he  was  appointed  a  professor 


STARS  AMONG  THE  PLANETS  253 

at  the  Moscow  Conservatoire.  But  none  of  his  com- 
positions obtained  any  success  until  he  was  well  over 
thirty. 

Then,  in  1877,  came  his  mysterious  and  unhappy 
marriage.  A  young  woman,  very  poor,  declared  her 
love  for  him ;  and  in  a  mood  of  Quixotic  chivalry, 
purely  out  of  sympathy,  he  married  her,  though  he 
did  not  love  her.  He  tried  to  argue  the  girl  out  of 
her  infatuation  by  describing  minutely  his  character, 
his  irritability,  his  diffidence,  the  unevenness  of  his 
temperament,  and  so  on.  It  was  all  in  vain.  Tschai- 
kowsky  was  in  despair.  "To  live,"  he  said,  "  for  thirty- 
seven  years  in  congenital  antipathy  to  marriage,  and 
then  suddenly  to  be  made  a  bridegroom  through  sheer 
force  of  circumstances,  without  being  in  the  least 
charmed  by  the  bride — that  is  something  horrible." 
Truly !  And  the  result  was  horrible.  After  the  mar- 
riage the  pair  returned  home  only  to  part.  Tschai- 
kowsky  stayed  away  for  a  month,  and  then  tried  the 
life  h  deux  again.  The  attempt  lasted  only  for  a  week. 
He  determined  to  kill  himself,  and  stood  up  to  his  chin 
in  the  river  one  frosty  night,  "  in  the  hope  of  literally 
catching  his  death  of  cold,  and  getting  rid  of  his 
troubles  without  scandal."  He  fled  to  St.  Petersburg, 
where  his  brother  stood  by  him  for  forty-eight  hours 
while  he  lay  unconscious.  The  doctor  said  travel  was 
necessary.  The  wife  was  provided  for,  and  leaving  her 
for  ever,  Tschaikowsky  fled  to  foreign  countries,  barely 
in  time  to  save  his  sanity.  That  is  all  that  we  know, 
so  far,  of  the  strange  story.    There  must  be  more  to  tell 


2  54  MASTER  MUSICIANS 

in  explanation  of  a  freak  so  wild  and  apparently  un- 
natural, but  we  must  wait. 

In  course  of  time  Tschaikowsky  pulled  himself  to- 
gether, and  it  is  to  the  fruitfulness  of  his  quiet,  later 
years  that  we  owe  such  of  his  works,  in  addition  to  the 
Pathetic^  as  have  the  slightest  chance  of  surviving. 
After  his  period  of  travel  he  lived  almost  a  hermit. 
His  end,  humanly  speaking,  was  as  sad  as  his  career. 
During  the  cholera  season  in  St.  Petersburg,  when  the 
water  was  more  or  less  contaminated,  he  drank  a  glass 
of  unfiltered  water,  and  very  soon  thereafter  was  struck 
down  with  the  disease.  When  he  was  dying,  in  terrible 
agony,  he  thanked  all  about  his  bedside  for  the  con- 
sideration they  showed  him.  He  turned  to  his  nephews, 
after  an  unusually  severe  attack  of  nausea,  with  the 
exclamation  :  "  What  a  condition  I  am  in !  You  will 
have  but  little  respect  for  your  uncle  when  you  think  of 
him  in  such  a  state  as  this."  So  Charles  II.,  with  his 
historical  "I  am  afraid,  gentlemen,  I  am  an  unconscion- 
able time  a-dying." 

Thus  passed  away,  in  the  October  of  1893,  the 
most  characteristic  of  the  moderns  of  musical  com- 
position. The  beauty  of  much  of  his  work  is  seductive, 
but  better  perhaps  is  the  more  equable  beauty  of 
Bach  and  Mozart 


Printed  by  R.  8:  R.  Ci.akk,  Limited,  Edinburgh. 


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